The Crypt
by Silbrith
Summary: October 1975. Neal and Peter discover a dark secret buried underneath Arkham which will set them on a new course. Fluff: Halloween. White Collar characters: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, June, and Sara. Arkham Files story #3, a blend of White Collar and the world of the Cthulhu Mythos.
1. Family Ties

_Notes: The Crypt is the third story in the Arkham Files series within the Caffrey Conversation AU created by Penna Nomen. Although it can be read as a standalone, it will make more sense if read after the second story in the series, The Locked Room. _See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information.__

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Family Ties**

 **Sharkey's Bar, Arkham, Massachusetts. Wednesday, October 15, 1975.**

Chad drained the last of his beer while he watched the customers in the bar. It was early in the evening, but Sharkey's was already packed with fishermen and dockworkers. Good potential for new recruits.

A waitress strode by, carrying a large platter of fried fish sandwiches and beer. She gave him a cheeky smile as she passed. She wasn't bad-looking, but he preferred his women svelte—like Sharkey's new bartender Emma. Now she was a looker. Redhead, sassy smile. Her tight sweater revealed every curve. And those legs . . . She rocked her miniskirt.

He could tell she liked him, too. He hadn't asked her out yet but he should. Just because he was an acolyte didn't mean he'd sworn off sex. Besides, she seemed interested in Starry Wisdom. They needed more women, particularly ones that looked like her.

Keller slid into the chair next to him, putting an end to daydreaming. Chad had chosen a table in the back where they could have privacy. The bar was a rowdy place. The clatter of plates and glasses mingled with jokes and curses would prevent anyone from overhearing them.

Keller waved to the waitress and pointed to Chad's beer bottle, holding up two fingers. "I've been thinking about the gal you're hot for."

"Emma? I can invite her into the order?"

"Sure. I gave her the benefit of the Keller charm yesterday evening and she cozied right up to me. She's sharp as a tack and sexy to boot. I can see why you're so twisted over her." Keller slanted a glance at him and smirked. "You got it bad, I can tell. Well, you'll be pleased to know I checked the covenants and there's nothing to prevent a female acolyte or priest for that matter. We're an enlightened religion. Equal opportunity for all."

"When's the next ceremony?"

"A couple of weeks. Go ahead and ask her when you feel the time's right." Keller sat back and eyed him appraisingly. "You know as my acolyte, all your possessions are mine. That a problem?"

Chad wet his lips. _Hell, yeah._ But if he said no, the repercussions would be severe. No more moon-tree wine. No woman was worth losing that. He forced a smile. "What if she resists?"

Keller chuckled. "Once she's had a taste of the wine, she won't want to. What do you have to report on those two intruders we surprised at our last meeting?"

"I've been doing like you requested. Following them around. They're two eggheads. The older one—Peter Gilman—is some bigshot archaeologist at the university. The kid, Neal Carter? Just like I suspected, he still can't keep his nose out of a book. If he's not teaching classes, he's at the university library. Never seen him with a date. I don't think he owns a set of wheels."

Keller grunted. "Why were they snooping around our meeting place? I don't like it. I don't understand why they were there and that's an itch that won't go away."

"You want me put your itch on ice?"

Keller chewed on the offer while he took a swig of beer. "Nah. As long as they keep out of our way, they're not worth the risk. But keep an eye on 'em."

 **Derleth Hall, Miskatonic University. Thursday, October 16**

"Are you sure you're trying?" Mozzie took his glasses off and polished them with his handkerchief. "I can't understand why you haven't had any visions yet. I've been staring so much at that sphere, I'm starting to see things and I don't have the gift."

Neal vented his frustration in a huff. "I keep telling you it doesn't work like that. I can't just look at it and command a vision to pop into my head." He stood up and stretched his back. He'd been sitting in Mozzie's office in Derleth Hall, staring at the brass armillary sphere for more minutes than he wanted to count, but nothing was happening.

Let Mozzie grumble. Neal walked over to the window to refresh his eyes. Not that it was easy to find his window. Mozzie's office was larger than most but it was crammed with bookcases and tables, all stuffed with books, journals, and assorted astronomical devices. A blackboard on a rolling stand was currently blocking Neal's view of the window, forcing him to wheel it out of the way.

The squeak of the wheels spooked Mozzie's cat, who'd been napping on the window ledge. Letting out an indignant _meowl_ , he jumped down onto the floor with an irritated swish of his tail.

"Sorry, Betelgeuse." Neal stooped down to stroke him. Accepting his apology with a loud purr, the tabby retreated to his favorite sanctuary in the keyhole of Mozzie's desk.

Neal propped his elbows on the window ledge and looked through the leaded glass panes. Mozzie's office faced west. The setting sun was a fiery jack-o'-lantern over the campus, announcing the approach of Halloween. It cast a copper glow to the familiar brick structures. The trees were already cloaked in their costumes of russet and gold.

Derleth Hall had the highest elevation of any of the buildings on campus. To provide optimal visibility for the observatory on the roof, it had been built on top of Founders' Hill. Mozzie's office was on the fifth floor, just underneath the observatory. He called his office a lab—a place to conduct thought experiments. To Neal it was a penthouse. Because of the importance of his research, the university granted Mozzie privileges no other professor had obtained. He was allowed to live there since he did most of his thought experiments at night. He'd installed a kitchenette and a cubbyhole of a bedroom, although he mainly slept on the old leather couch in his office. A cast iron spiral staircase led to his private entrance onto the roof.

It had been two weeks since the bizarre events in the house on Birch Street when Neal and Peter had been seized by members of the Starry Wisdom cult. He and Peter had traveled via a wormhole in a locked room into another world where the standard laws of physics didn't apply. Mozzie was dismayed at having missed out on the journey but at least he'd been present when they discovered a zoog lurking in the house. Sightings of the strange rat-sized animal with a snout covered in pink tentacles had also occurred on the streets of Arkham.

Mozzie had yet to see a ghast, and he wasn't about to let Neal rest until he too had seen one of the jackal-headed monsters. Mozzie was convinced the answer lay in the armillary sphere. A few weeks ago, Neal had experienced a vision of a ghast stealing the sphere from the Nautical Shop in town. Peter had persuaded him to inform the police and that night during a stakeout of the shop, not only had he seen the ghast, but Peter and two police detectives, Diana Briscoe and Reginald Jones, witnessed it as well.

Mozzie bought the armillary sphere which had sparked the visions in the hopes history would repeat itself but so far it hadn't happened. That Dante Atwood, the Karl Jansky Professor of Astrophysics, had missed out on all of Neal's ghast sightings and otherworldly experiences was not to be tolerated.

After all the assistance Mozzie had provided him over the years, Neal wished he could help. But his visions were infrequent and random. For the past two weeks, he hadn't experienced any.

He heard the scrape of a chair behind him. Mozzie walked over to stand next to him. "I have a Merlot that calls out to be drunk. Let's take a break." He glanced at his watch. "I still have plenty of time before I need to leave. President Upton's invited me to dine with some of the university's benefactors tonight. He warned me that one of them was a fierce teetotaler and that there will be no wine. I should prepare my stomach. We'll drink a glass of together and toast the sunset."

Neal fetched the glasses from the kitchen cabinet while Mozzie retrieved the bottle from his extensive wine collection. The observatory dome was about fifty feet away from Mozzie's doorway. He kept a couple of lounge chairs and a table in a small shed next to the entrance. The university was tolerant of his additions, especially since he'd advised them that he did his best thinking while stretched out on a lounge. The chairs could be reclined perfectly flat, making for comfortable viewing of the stars. Betelgeuse usually accompanied him onto the roof, and this evening was no exception.

While Neal unfolded the chairs, Mozzie uncorked the bottle and poured out two glasses. The sun had dipped below the steeple of St. Jude's Church. Mozzie expounded on how sunsets would look on different planets while Neal was content to sit back and enjoy the beauty of the scene.

Betelgeuse, however, had other ideas. He'd been sitting quietly on Neal's lap but suddenly jumped off and, with a low growl, raced over to the observatory.

"I don't know what's gotten into him," Mozzie remarked. "He's been on edge for the past few weeks. He seems to be constantly on the prowl. Yowls at random moments throughout the night. You know I like to sit up here and think, but he's forcing me to use my office instead."

"Does he cry when he's inside?"

"No, only outside. Perhaps he hears other cats. Betelgeuse is very protective of me."

"He was such a tiny kitten when Lavinia gave him to you. He must think of you as his papa." Bestowing the kitten upon Mozzie was an odd act of Miskatonic's head librarian, Lavinia Armitage, but then everything about her was strange. Mozzie had been strolling by the library one afternoon just after the start of the school year when Lavinia strode out to meet him and handed him the tiny furball, ordering him to take care of it. That had been in 1969, Neal's freshman year. Mozzie named the kitten Betelgeuse because of its reddish fur.

Neal had never had a pet. He and Betelgeuse immediately bonded. Mozzie declared that the tabby was fonder of Neal than of himself, but that wasn't true. Betelgeuse had become the unofficial mascot of Derleth Hall and wandered freely throughout the building.

"How's the work of translating the appendices proceeding?" Mozzie asked, refilling his glass.

"At a snail's pace," Neal admitted, pausing to savor the soft silkiness of the wine, a much more pleasurable sensation than thinking about the appendices. "Although the script resembles Arabic, the characters are unlike any I've come across. Its closest relative appears to be Phoenician but the differences are too numerous for Phoenician to be much help. We know the _Necronomicon_ has illustrations of ghasts and nightgaunts, but the main text carries little additional information. I hope the answers will be found in the appendices."

"Have you found any reference to the starfish in the _Necronomicon_?"

"The object that started it all? Not yet."

It had been a little over a month since Neal first saw the artifact that Peter had brought back from a dig in Abydos in Egypt. Since then they'd made significant progress. Their colleague Cyrus Dexter, head of the Chemistry Department, had discovered the soapstone carving contained a previously unknown element which they dubbed algolnium. But there were still so many blanks. Similar starfish had been found at crime scenes for several months. Each had vanished without a trace within a few hours of being discovered. Only Peter's was stable. And as for the glyphs written on them, they were no closer to solving the meaning. Without a Rosetta stone, a translation was near impossible to achieve.

"What about the Shrewsbury cabinet in the library vault? When Lavinia finally granted you access and gave you the key your advisor Thaddeus Shrewsbury had left for you, I was sure you were on the cusp of major discoveries. The journals of his famous archaeologist father, Laban Shrewsbury. The mysterious crystal manuscript. So many coded papers with untold mysteries to be revealed." He sighed. "I know you've been applying yourself in every spare moment, but still . . ."

Neal understood his impatience. He felt the same way, but he couldn't help feeling Mozzie was being a little unfair. "How long did it take you to develop your theory of parallel worlds?"

"M-branes?" He gazed up at the sky as he considered. "Roughly seven years. But my theory explains the fundamental nature of the universe. You're simply trying to decipher a few languages."

Rolling his eyes at his friend, Neal didn't respond. Peter repeatedly cautioned him against spending too much time in the vault, reminding him of Lavinia's warning not to overdo it. But since the materials couldn't be removed, he was spending long hours there every day. To have so few results was discouraging.

"Never mind. I'm sure it will come to you eventually. You should do more stargazing. That's when my most brilliant ideas pop into my head." Betelgeuse trotted back from his patrol, looking pleased with himself. He jumped onto Mozzie's lap and rubbed against his chest. "Yes, my friend," he added, stroking his head. "You inspire me, too."

Neal smiled. Perhaps that was his problem. He needed a pet. Mozzie had Betelgeuse, Peter and El had Satchmo, even the scary Lavinia had animals living in the rafters of her office. He'd like to know what species they were, but that was one of the many questions she refused to answer.

"Are you still working in Peter's office once a week?" Mozzie asked.

"Yes, and it's going well. I no longer have any discomfort around the artifact. It's hard to believe it used to provoke such a violent reaction." For the past several weeks Neal had been working on Monday afternoons with Peter in his office. El's theory that greater exposure to the starfish would allow him to build up a tolerance had proved to be correct. Initially Peter had suggested the use of his office where he'd be around if the exposure caused difficulties. Now that they knew Peter also had algolnium within his spinal fluid, they were able to monitor each other. So far Peter didn't have the ability to sense algolnium like Neal did, but it could only be a matter of time. They knew that the algolnium was self-replicating.

"You're not sensing any change at all?" Mozzie asked, sounding disappointed.

Neal considered for a moment. "It may simply be my imagination but my senses seem a little heightened. Colors are brighter, smells more intense."

"Like being high on LSD? I had that same feeling."

Neal snorted. "I wouldn't know. You know I don't do drugs, and you shouldn't either."

"Of course, you're right. I never do . . . now. That was merely a scientific experiment."

"You better go slow on those experiments. They could get you in trouble someday."

"How about Peter? Does he still experience no reaction?"

"That's right, and it's a mystery—"

 _"Yeowl!"_ Betelgeuse flew off Mozzie's lap and once more raced to the observatory.

Mozzie rubbed his thigh ruefully. "I knew I should have cut his claws this morning."

Angry snarls and hisses could now be heard coming from behind the dome. "Who's he attacking? Another cat?" Neal stood up. "I'll go check."

"I wouldn't bother," Mozzie dismissed, taking a sip of wine. "It's probably just a tree rat. Betelgeuse is quite capable of fighting off any marauders."

Neal dismissed his suggestion and jogged to the observatory to lend his assistance. He and Betelgeuse were comrades. Neal wasn't about to abandon him to face killer tree rats on his own.

He found the tabby on the far side of the observatory. He had his jaws around the neck of large rat-like creature and was shaking it furiously. Neal couldn't get a good view of his prey, but it had a long hairless tail. Then he caught a glimpse of its face. "Mozzie, come here! Now!"

"What's going on?" Mozzie demanded, racing over.

"Betelgeuse caught a zoog!" The tabby had not only fought it, he apparently had killed it. The zoog was dangling limp from his jaws. "Quick, memorize everything about it. It may disappear on us." Neal knelt down. "Good boy, Betelgeuse. Now let it go."

Betelgeuse dropped the creature. By the angle of the body, it was clear its neck had been snapped. Up to now Neal had only caught fleeting glimpses. In the house on Birch Street, the zoog had been lurking in an upstairs corridor and scurried away before they could get a good look. Diana said the police had received several calls about a strange rat with a deformed snout skulking in back alleys or in the undergrowth. The only written report Neal had found of zoogs was in the _Necronomicon_.

"This is almost as good as a ghast!" Mozzie said excitedly. "I'll fetch my camera."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

But by the time Mozzie returned, the zoog was gone. It had vanished in a _poof_ in front of Neal's eyes. When he called Peter from Mozzie's office to describe their encounter, Peter invited him over, explaining that he also had something to report.

That came as no surprise. Peter had been reanalyzing potsherds from the dig at Abydos where he'd found the starfish artifact. Neal hoped he'd discovered something that would help decipher the symbols.

El was working that evening and had left a Crock-Pot of beef stew with ample to share. They had their meal at the butcher block table in the kitchen while Neal gave a detailed description of the zoog. "Its fur was coarse and sparse like a possum. And that wasn't its only similarity. It had a pouch."

Peter passed him the bread basket. "A marsupial?"

"It's certainly possible."

"Could you tell if it were a carnivore?"

"We pried open its jaw. The teeth were razor sharp and appeared designed to shred flesh. And those tentacles? They looked very much like pale pink earthworms."

"You should call Diana first thing in the morning to report it," Peter advised. "Why was it on the roof of the building? If it were foraging for food, wouldn't it have stayed on the ground?"

"I don't understand it either. It must be an excellent climber to scale Derleth Hall. You remember the time I thought I glimpsed one by your patio? That was at night. Satchmo alerted us." He reached down to stroke the Lab, who was rubbing against his legs in a subtle reminder he was available for handouts. "This time Betelgeuse found it. The zoog put up quite a struggle. I had no idea Betelgeuse was so fierce."

"I'm glad he is. You were wise to warn June about zoogs. We don't know how aggressive they are or what they're capable of."

Neal tore off a piece of bread to dip into the stew. "You said you had something to report as well," he prompted.

Peter nodded as he swallowed. "I'd tried to reach you earlier in the day. El got the results back from my parents."

Neal's heart quickened. El had raised the possibility of algolnium being an inherited trait. She'd suggested testing Peter's parents to see if they also possessed the rare element. Was he related to Peter?

Peter shook his head in answer to Neal's unspoken question. "They don't carry it. Cyrus and El have refined the test to detect algolnium, and they're convinced they'd be able to identify even the slightest trace."

Neal shrugged, concealing the disappointment. "This casts doubts on El's favorite theory."

"That the algolnium we have is derived from rare deposits left on Earth by meteorites? You're right."

Neal mulled over options while he chewed. "I still could have inherited it. El mentioned that the amount you have is so small, she wondered if you'd acquired it from an external source, perhaps from your food or from the environment."

He nodded. "Did you attempt to speak to Lavinia about it?"

"I did, and she heaped sarcasm on me for asking her about an element that hasn't even been accepted yet by the international body. Did you fare any better with her?"

"No, unfortunately. I'm certain she knows more than she's letting on, but for whatever reason she refuses to explain, and until she's ready there's no point in trying to force it out of her. I know a stone wall when I crash into one."

Peter steered the conversation onto his archaeological research. Neal tried to refocus as well, but the news had hit him harder than he first realized. The odds of him being related to Peter were astronomically slim even if El had found evidence that algolnium could be inherited. He knew that. And if they were related, it probably would have been such a distant connection, it wouldn't have been worth discussing.

"I'm sorry too," Peter said quietly.

Sometimes it was like Peter had a wire attached to Neal's brain. "Is telepathy a benefit of algolnium? Mozzie will be even more envious."

He smiled. "That could be a useful skill to have. It warrants further investigation. But, kidding aside, I'd also hoped we were related."

"A genetic connection doesn't mean much. I'd hoped this would tell me a little about my family, but I realize I was being unrealistic." He stood up and went over to the sink to rinse his bowl. "Mozzie can continue to spin theories about an extraterrestrial origin to the element."

Peter walked over to stand next to him. "The algolnium we share, the mysteries we're working on—they mean much more than a distant genetic connection. El and I both consider you a member of the family. Satchmo would disown us if we didn't. Nothing will change that."

Neal looked at him, speechless, but before he could stumble out his appreciation, Peter switched the topic back to his research. A colleague had sent him photographs of starfish drawings in a Neolithic cave in France which bore a strong similarity to the potsherds found at Abydos and Morocco. They all possessed the same curved tadpole tails. A coincidence or something else? The evidence didn't help Neal's translation efforts, but it invited speculation of an unknown culture which predated ancient Egypt and extended throughout the region.

After helping to wash dishes, Neal prepared to make his departure, but Peter suggested he stay to watch a new TV show with him. _Space: 1999_ had premiered a few weeks ago. The premise of the show was intriguing. The Moon was blasted out of orbit. It, along with the inhabitants of the colony on its surface, was sent hurtling through space—on their way to explore new worlds. Perhaps they'd find algolnium somewhere in the vastness of space. It made Neal think of the planets he dreamed about the previous year when he was at Oxford.

At the end of the show, he locked his eyes on Peter. Time to test the algolnium theory.

After a minute the subject of his experiment could take it no longer. "Why do you have that goofy look on your face?"

"Can't you read my mind?"

He snorted. "Checking to see if I have telepathy? Sorry, you're in for another disappointment. But El says my algolnium, just like yours, continues to strengthen. Try it again in a few weeks. If I could read your thoughts, what would they be?"

"Off-world exploration. Do you ever dream of visiting other planets?"

"Like that world we saw from the non-Euclidean tower?"

"Preferably worlds which aren't so hostile."

"As I recall, you were hoping to hitch a ride on a shantak bird and explore that planet." He paused to chuckle. "It was an adventure, wasn't it? Life's been pretty boring lately." He shook his head. "But I can't say I ever dream about alien worlds. Do you?"

Neal nodded. "When I was in England. There was one when I was walking along an alien beach. I had that one several times. In another one I was in a forest."

Peter's face flashed recognition. "Those paintings you did that are hanging in the coffeehouse! I knew there was something otherworldly about them."

"You would have known it for sure if I'd included all the details. Multiple moons, unknown species of wildlife."

"Any zoogs or ghasts in them?"

"Not that I remember. I'd wondered if the dreams were another effect of the algolnium."

"If they were, the element's not producing the same result in me. It may be because I'm not an artist. Do you think your home planet was calling to you?"

Neal looked up at him suspiciously. "You're joking, right?"

He shrugged. "Only partly. What's the answer?"

"I'm not sure what to think. Most likely, it's the _Star Trek_ effect. That show was very popular at Oxford. Visiting strange planets, learning new languages—it's a dream job for a linguist."

"For an archaeologist as well. I loved reading Robert Heinlein as a kid. That was part of the initial appeal of archaeology—the excitement of exploring the unknown and unearthing ancient civilizations, whether on Earth or other planets. "

"I used to haunt the second-hand bookstores for foreign language texts when I was growing up," Neal admitted. "I daydreamed about traveling the world." That wasn't quite accurate. He still daydreamed about it. Maybe someday he could when his student loans were paid off.

Peter closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the side of his head. "A signal's coming through. It's fuzzy." He tapped his head lightly several times and snapped his eyes open. " _Have Space Suit—Will Travel_ was one of your favorite books, wasn't it _?_ "

"You caught me," Neal said, grinning. "You do have telepathy after all. When the Mother Thing spoke to Kip in birdsong, I said linguistics is the field for me."

"It was one of my favorite books as well. You see, I knew we were related," Peter added complacently. "The fact my parents don't have algolnium proves nothing."

 _Related through a novel and algolnium?_ There were worse ways to be connected. Neal recalled how he'd longed for a Mother Thing in his life when he'd been a child. He'd take Peter any day instead.

When he stood up to leave, Peter offered to accompany him part way, claiming it was time to take Satchmo for a walk. Neal was glad for the company. Although they didn't discuss it, Neal could tell Peter was also keeping a careful eye out for zoogs.

As they strolled along Cedar Street, they speculated about what the significance was of seeing the strange beasts. Mozzie believed there was a wormhole somewhere that was allowing them to pass through. It was difficult to defend any other possibility. No one had reported any UFO sightings over Arkham. Conceivably a spaceship could have landed far enough away that no one had seen it. But if that were true, why were zoogs appearing in Arkham and nowhere else? Diana had checked the police reports for neighboring towns, and not found any other mention of them.

When Neal opened the front door, June was sitting in the living room. She called him in. His questioning smile turned to worry when he saw her face.

"What happened?" he asked, sitting down beside her on the couch.

She took his hand. "There's not an easy way to tell you. I'm afraid I have sad news. You received a call from Dr. Zhang at the Medical Center."

As soon as she said his name, Neal knew what she was going to say. "It's Thaddeus, isn't it?"

"He passed away a few hours ago. I'm so sorry. I know how attached you were to him."

Neal had been half-expecting the news for a while, but it was still a blow. His former advisor had been in a coma for close to two years. Neal had refused to give up hope he'd recover. His condition had been a mystery from the beginning. Doctors suspected a neurological disorder, but had never been able to pinpoint the cause. To all appearances he'd simply fallen into a deep sleep from which there was no awakening. His heart rate was normal. His lungs functioned as they should. All his vital organs appeared undamaged. Neal had made it a habit to see him weekly and read aloud to him. The doctors encouraged him but Thaddeus had never shown the slightest sign that he was aware of Neal's presence.

"Have a brandy, dear. It will do you good." Neal looked up to see June in front of him with a glass in hand. She placed it in his hands. "Thaddeus didn't have any family, did he?"

"Not to my knowledge. The university and his doctors tried to locate relations when he fell into a coma but weren't successful."

"You were probably the closest he had to family. You should take comfort that you visited him so much. Although he didn't respond, I'm convinced that on some level he was aware of your presence." She raised her glass. "To Thaddeus."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The memorial service was held on Sunday in the college chapel. Thaddeus might not have had any relatives, but the chapel was filled with colleagues and former students. He'd achieved global recognition for his expertise in linguistics. Many scholars had flown in to pay their final respects. Neal sat in a pew with June, Peter, Elizabeth, and Mozzie. Lavinia arrived just as the service began, taking a seat in the back row.

President Upton delivered a short eulogy, but the service mainly consisted of organ music. As the dark resonant tones of Bach's Toccata in D minor reverberated throughout the small chapel, Neal thought back on his studies with Thaddeus. His final assignment had been to help him on the _Necronomicon_ appendices. That project had been put on hold when Lavinia denied him access to the library vault. Now that Neal had secured vault privileges, what did he have to show for it? A few scattered words. Azathoth was the only one of significance. Neal had not found a parallel to the language in any of the materials in the vault. Thaddeus's own notes had been too rudimentary to be of any practical value.

Neal vowed to devote renewed effort to the task. This he could do in honor of Thaddeus.

After the service, they lingered on the lawn outside to talk with some of the visiting professors. Out of the corner of his eye, Neal noticed that El was speaking with Lavinia.

As they made their departure, he questioned her about the conversation.

"I asked her to lunch. Would you believe she turned me down flat?" El huffed her displeasure. "I even offered to rearrange my schedule. She glared at me as if I'd insulted her and marched off. Honestly! Does she think being an eccentric gives her an excuse to be rude?"

Peter shrugged. "I did warn you."

"Did you have a special reason to invite her?" Neal asked.

El hesitated for a moment. "Lavinia assumed the post of head librarian the same year you were found on the streets of Arkham. She was the one who told you the pendant you have is an amulet. I wanted to question her about it. I hope you don't think I was being nosy."

Neal hadn't realized Lavinia showed up in Arkham the same year he did. Simply an interesting coincidence, or was there more to it? He understood why El was curious. He was too.

 **Peter's Office, Wingate Hall, Miskatonic University. Monday afternoon.**

Peter glanced at his watch. Neal was late. Usually he was punctual to a fault . . . unless he was in the vault, where he tended to lose track of time. Neal had gone to the vault after brunch the previous day to work on the appendices, the final task Thaddeus had asked him to perform. Was that where he was now?

Neal dismissed concerns of vault madness but if he knew more about Thaddeus's collapse, he might not. Why hadn't Lavinia told him? She'd confided in Peter, but made him promise to keep it a secret. Wasn't it time Neal knew?

When Peter learned that Thaddeus had been Neal's advisor, he looked into it. The curmudgeonly linguist had acquired quite a reputation on campus. For over fifteen years he'd refused to take on any student, grad or undergrad. The dean had pleaded with him, explaining it set a bad example, but Thaddeus turned a deaf ear to all entreaties.

Then Neal came along.

Peter had buttonholed the dean to find out the circumstances. What he learned was disquieting. By the time Neal started at Miskatonic, the dean had given up on Thaddeus as a lost cause. Out of the blue during Neal's freshman year, Thaddeus approached him and requested Neal be assigned to him.

In view of Neal's youth—he was only sixteen at the time—the dean had taken a personal interest. He feared that after such a long absence from mentoring, Thaddeus would be too demanding. His suspicions turned out to be accurate. Thaddeus piled on far more extra assignments and research than any advisor had a right to expect.

When the dean questioned Neal about it, he'd made no complaints, but that didn't lessen the dean's concern. He approached Thaddeus, ordering him to ease off. Thaddeus promised to comply, but as far as the dean could judge, he didn't. Whenever the dean spoke with him, Thaddeus made vague, disturbing references to the amount of work which needed to be done.

At that point, the dean decided for Neal's sake he had to switch advisors, but Neal had become so attached to Thaddeus, he pleaded to be allowed to continue. The compromise solution was a strict adherence to a schedule established by the dean with defined limits for extra research.

Peter doubted that the schedule did much good. Judging by the way Neal was overworking himself now, he'd probably done the same with Thaddeus.

Thaddeus had been found collapsed on the sidewalk outside the library early on a Monday morning. He'd spent the previous weekend in the vault, working on the appendices. Lavinia had confided in Peter that she feared his illness was another case of vault madness. Additional tests had been run to test the air quality and nothing harmful had been found.

When Lavinia granted Neal access to the vault, she'd warned Peter. Why was she so insistent Peter not share the information with Neal? Peter had tried to get her to explain, but prying information out of Lavinia was a herculean task beyond his capability. If she answered his questions at all, the replies would be riddles or on a totally different tangent.

A knock on the door interrupted his musings. It was a relief to see Neal walk through the door.

"Sorry I'm late." He placed his briefcase on the side table in front of the window and sat down.

"Linguistics emergency?" Peter asked, retrieving the starfish artifact from his safe.

He chuckled. "My students might call it that. Panic is beginning to set in for the paper I requested for my Anglo-Saxon seminar. I suspect my office will be jammed tomorrow with pleas for assistance."

"But you'll be tough, right? Hold your ground. Show them that you won't be a pushover."

"Right. I'll take lessons from the Peter Gilman manual on how to succeed in intimidating without really trying."

"Good. No coddling allowed."

"Got it. Marjorie Whipple, the department head, is also mentoring me."

"I was surprised I didn't see you at the Faculty Club for lunch. You weren't working in the vault like last week, did you? 'Cause you know I warned—"

Neal rolled his eyes at Peter's lecture in the making. "Stop. You're beginning to sound like Lavinia."

Peter winced. "That's a low blow."

"Sorry, but surely you don't believe in vault madness . . . You're not responding." Neal stared at him incredulously. "You're a believer?"

"Agnostic is more accurate." Peter paused a moment. Promises be damned, Neal had the right to know. "You remember when Lavinia spoke with me after she granted you vault access."

He nodded. "I asked you about it, and you said she'd requested the conversation be kept confidential."

"Lavinia mentioned that you would find yourself drawn to studying the rare materials in the vault to the point it could become an addiction." When Neal scoffed at his words, Peter added, "That's what she claimed happened to Thaddeus. She was concerned that the long hours he put in contributed to his collapse."

"Did she think he fell prey to vault madness?"

"That's right. Thaddeus was spending over twelve hours a day on weekends in the vault. Although no evidence has ever been found, Lavinia continues to believe that prolonged exposure can lead to issues."

"I appreciate you telling me. I'm surprised she didn't explain it herself. Did she think I'd sue her?"

"Who knows with Lavinia? Just pace yourself."

"I am," he protested. "In any case, I wasn't at the vault today. Thaddeus's lawyer wanted to speak with me and this was the only chance I had to meet with him." Neal paused for a moment. "Thaddeus mentioned me in his will. I couldn't believe when I heard about it."

"I'm not surprised. It was obvious how much he thought about you."

"Yeah, but I never expected . . . Thaddeus had told me once he planned to leave everything to the university to set up a scholarship fund. I think I was just named the first recipient. Thirty thousand dollars!"

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks. My bank will probably think I've taken up a life of crime. I've never had more than a thousand in my account. Now I'll be able to pay off my student loans. I'll be free and clear of debt. That will take getting used to."

"Trust me, you'll quickly adjust. I vividly remember my satisfaction when I finally paid off my college loans."

"Then there was something else." Neal reached into his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope. Opening it, he took out a photo and passed it to Peter.

A young man and a girl, perhaps father and daughter, were sitting on a concrete bench in what appeared to be a park. A large tree was behind them. The girl looked to be five or six years old. Her dark hair was curled in ringlets—a brunette Shirley Temple. The man appeared to be around thirty. He had his arm around her and was looking at her with affection. "Do you know who they are?"

"Not a clue. There's no information on the back. The lawyer said Thaddeus had given him the photo in 1974 and instructed him to give it to me at the time of his passing. A month later he slipped into the coma. I can't help but wonder if they're related to me."

Peter studied the photo. "They have dark hair. I'm no expert, but judging from the man's clothes, I'd guess the photo was taken sometime in the 1930s. And something I do know about is bone structure." Peter studied the photo. "They have dark hair. I'm no expert, but judging from the man's clothes, I'd guess the photo was taken sometime in the 1930s. And something I do know about is bone structure." Peter stopped to scan Neal's face then the man's in the photo. "He has your chin. Your smiles are similar . . ." Peter paused to consider the implications for Neal, a kid who had no knowledge of any family. He'd been found wandering the streets of Arkham when he was eight. A card was in his pocket giving a date of birth, his name, and no other information. He had no memory of anything before that day. Had Thaddeus known something? But if that were the case, why hadn't he shared it earlier? He must have known how much it would mean to Neal.

"The lawyer also commented on the resemblance. Then there's this." He reached inside the collar of his shirt and pulled out his amulet.

Neal had been wearing the pendant when the police found him as a child. Cyrus had conducted an analysis of its composition and discovered it was made of an algolnium-based compound similar to bronze.

Neal pulled out a magnifying glass from his briefcase. "Look at the pendant the man is wearing around his neck in the photo. It blends in so well with his shirt, I didn't notice it at first."

Peter took his magnifying glass and reexamined the photo. "It's your amulet!"

"It certainly looks like it. Is he my grandfather? Could this girl be my mother?"

"Very possibly, especially given the similarities in bone structure between the man and you. It's more problematic for the girl, but their pose is suggestive of a bond. How do you want to proceed?"

"All I have is this photo. The lawyer said university agents are in the midst of making an inventory of the contents of Thaddeus's office and apartment. If they find any photos or journals, he'll let me know. I don't expect they'll find much. I'd gone through his effects for the dean when Thaddeus slipped into a coma and didn't find anything of a personal nature relating to me. I don't have a clue where to start. Research old newspapers?"

Peter considered for a moment. "Sara's an investigative journalist. You should ask her. You know how good she is. You gave her the nickname of news-ferret after all."

"I couldn't impose on our friendship. I'd insist on paying her . . . I wonder how much she'd charge?"

Peter chuckled. "For her fake boyfriend? You'll get a bargain rate."

Neal winced at his words. "I was thinking I should let her off the hook. It was a joke, after all. It keeps her from dating someone else."

"Sara doesn't strike me as the type who'll just sit back if she wants out of the arrangement. Don't forget how this got started. Your female students were much more interested in you than their coursework. You and Sara have been out in public a few times. You should ask her out again. Besides, isn't having her help on the photograph worth it?"

* * *

 _Notes: Thanks for reading! I hope you'll join me for the next chapter when Neal meets with Sara and discovers he's not the only one with news, Mozzie uncovers information about the armillary sphere, and Peter offers some advice. The Crypt has six chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday. Many thanks to the awesome Penna Nomen, creator of the Caffrey Conversation AU, for providing outstanding beta support for this story._

 _The Arkham Round Table is planting messages to Azathoth in this story. You'll be able to see their effect in the next Caffrey Conversation story, Nocturne in Black and Gold, which begins immediately after The Crypt. One of the messages is what Keller tells Chad: it's not worth the risk of harming Neal and Peter. Peter and Neal's close friendship is another one. Did you find more?_

 _There are pins of the people in Neal's photo on the Arkham Files board of our Pinterest site: Caffrey Conversation. I've written short summaries of the previous two Arkham Files stories for our blog, Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation._ _The post is called: Inside the Arkham Files Vault. Fanfiction doesn't allow links in notes, but I've added links to our blog and website to my profile._

 _FBI Agent Diana Berrigan began writing Arkham Files fics as part of a strategy to capture a cybercriminal nicknamed Azathoth. Most of her characters are drawn from the world of White Collar and retain their same given names. Events and characters in Arkham Files are sometimes referenced in the Caffrey Conversation stories and have an impact on plot development. Diana's user name is Lomaria and she occasionally posts comments to the Arkham Files stories. She wrote about Mozzie in this week's comment._

 _Disclaimers: The worlds of White Collar and the Cthulhu Mythos as envisaged by H.P. Lovecraft, August Derleth, and others are not mine, alas._


	2. News-Ferret

**Chapter 2: New-Ferret**

 **Dorian's Coffeehouse. Tuesday, October 21, 1975.**

Neal had set up a meeting with Sara for the next day at the coffeehouse. He arrived before her and settled down to wait with a cup of coffee.

Late in the afternoon, there were relatively few people. A couple of students were easy to spot by the piles of books on the chairs next to them. A woman was singing "You've Got a Friend," while accompanying herself on the guitar. Neal sat back and listened. Carol King had been one of Kate's favorite artists. She usually made him sing that selection after he performed James Taylor's "Fire and Rain." He'd read that Carol King based it on a line from Taylor's song.

"Earth to Neal." Neal looked up to see Jack Dorian, the coffeehouse's owner, standing in front of him. He slid into a chair. "You working on some obscure language I never heard of?"

"Not at the moment. I'm waiting for Sara."

"I saw the two of you together. Pleasant change not to see you by yourself, brooding over your coffee."

Jack shouldn't talk. With his disheveled curls and scruff thick enough to qualify as a beard, he looked more like the moody type than Neal. "You paint, too," Neal pointed out. "Aren't we supposed to brood?"

He shrugged. "You may have a point. About love, money . . . We could take our pick. I thought when the Wexford Gallery agreed to display some of my paintings, I'd have more luck, but so far none has sold. You're smart not to try to make a living from your art."

"You're not doing so badly. Your coffeehouse is thriving. Your paintings are bound to start selling soon."

"Not happening so far, but yesterday someone asked about a couple of yours."

That was a first. As far as Neal knew, no one had ever expressed any interest in his paintings. "Which ones?"

"That beach scene at night that I find so freaky. Man, I keep thinking you were tripping when you painted that. You sure you weren't?"

"Positive," Neal said with a laugh, dismissing the idea. Dreaming's not at all the same thing as tripping. "What did the customer want to know?"

"She asked if I knew what your source of inspiration was and if I had any similar paintings of yours. I showed her your forestscape and she must have scrutinized it for ten minutes."

"Did she want to buy it?"

"No such luck. I tried to engage her in conversation, but she ignored me. I've grown used to rude customers, but she was something else. She stomped off without even buying a cup of coffee."

Neal groaned to himself. He knew of only one person who would provoke a reaction like that but to be sure, he asked for her description.

"Tall African-American, dressed in tweeds and old-fashioned block heels like the shoes my grandmother wore."

"Did she have a deep gruff voice and piercing eyes that could eviscerate you with a single glance through her glasses?"

Jack snapped his fingers. "That's her! She a friend of yours?"

"She's Lavinia Armitage, head librarian at the university," Neal said, dodging a direct answer. He had no idea what Lavinia thought of him. Did she consider him a friend or a bug under a microscope?

"I've heard about her. Lavinia the Terrible is how one student described her to me."

"And she didn't say anything else about the paintings?"

"No, but since you're such good friends, you can ask her."

"Very funny."

"What's so funny?" a familiar voice asked. Neal turned his head to see Sara the news-ferret had arrived. "And who is this mysterious woman you're such good friends with? She better not be a rival for your affections." Sara pulled a chair close to him, and slung an arm around his neck. "Did Neal tell you we're dating? Although that sounds too mild for what we have going. Torrid romance is much more appropriate."

Jack grinned. "I saw you two together after the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young concert, remember? I thought I'd need to use the fire extinguisher on you. Trust me, he's told me all about you."

Neal groaned. "I knew this fake girlfriend scam would bite me."

Jack stood up and slapped him on the back. "You're a lost cause. Man, you don't even know when you have a good thing. It's like 'Hey Jude' was written specifically for you." He turned to Sara. "You don't happen to know anyone who'd be interested in being my fake girlfriend?"

Was Jack pulling Sara's leg? "I thought you mentioned you'd met someone," Neal pointed out.

"Yeah, but she won't give me the time of day."

Sara made a face. "Typical male strategy. You think if she sees you with someone else, she'll be jealous."

Jack shrugged. "It might work. I'm considering my options. I could serenade her house at night but I don't think she's the type. And if she didn't like it, the consequences could be grim." He stood up. "I should give you two lovebirds some privacy. What can I get you, Sara?"

"Coffee and a biscotti, thanks. I worked the early shift today and have been breathing in bar fumes for several hours."

Sara was working on an exposé of wharf gangs. Neal asked her about it while Jack left to fetch the coffee.

"I'm making inroads. Nothing specific yet, but my boss is pleased. He's letting me concentrate on the assignment full time. I've discovered a tight sweater, miniskirt, and dirty mouth go a long way in gaining the confidence of the locals."

When Neal teased her about it, she switched into her sexy bartender persona to give him an impromptu demo.

The transformation was astonishing. When Neal praised her, she shrugged it off.

"You know I've always had the acting bug. For this role, I took my cue from the character Lola in _Damn Yankees_. If you'll recall I attempted to get you and Kate to try out for a college production of _Guys and Dolls_ , but that went nowhere fast. You probably thought it would be a distraction from your study dates."

He winced. She was dangerously close to the mark. "We must have been tremendously boring."

"No you weren't. Obsessed is more appropriate. Now that _we're_ dating, I'll have to corrupt you. I'll teach you all about the delights of playing hooky. From there we'll advance to petty larceny."

Neal grinned at her outrageousness. "An interesting future you have planned for us. What will you do when your fake boyfriend is thrown in jail because of you?"

"Then I'll stage a breakout so you can escape," she said promptly. "We'll be Bonnie and Clyde, dashing around the countryside together."

"That's bound to do great things for my reputation as a professor."

She nodded smugly. "See, I told you I'd be a positive influence."

"I wasn't serious, you know."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed."

Jack delivered her coffee and muttered in a loud stage whisper to her. "Keep it up. You're doing great."

"Jack thinks I need a good dose of laughter," Neal admitted.

"And he's right. I heard about your advisor." In the blink of an eye, Sara turned serious. "I'm sorry. I know how close the two of you were."

"Thanks." Sara was gazing at him sympathetically. He found it surprisingly easy to talk to her about how much Thaddeus had meant to him. Neal had never talked about his childhood to Sara but he'd need to if he wanted her help with the photograph. He'd been undecided how much to go into it but after sitting with her and discussing Thaddeus, it didn't seem so awkward. The guitarist had moved on to singing selections by Joni Mitchell. When she launched into "Help Me," Neal took it as a signal.

He drained the coffee cup of its final dregs and took a deep breath, feeling like he was crossing the Rubicon. "You like a mystery, right?"

"Are you kidding? I grew up on Nancy Drew and the Hardy boys. Do you have something for me?" Her eyes sparkled as she transformed herself once more, this time into Sara Pabodie, news-ferret. She whipped out a notepad and pen. "What do you have for me? I promise total confidentiality till I publish. Make my day, Carter."

He eyed her warily. "You won't turn into another Dirty Harry on me, will you?"

"Another? Who's your first?"

"Detective Diana Briscoe."

She laughed. "She may be the only one who's got me beat. It probably doesn't surprise you that I admire her. Female detectives don't have an easy time of it, but she's got everyone in the police station, including the captain, toeing the line. That's what I want to do in the newsroom. But don't distract me. Start dishing the dirt. What is this mystery about?"

"Me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Another one? Does this concern Seth's murder at the bookstore last month?"

"No. This isn't related to any crime, at least I don't think so. It's more of a missing persons case."

"Who's missing?"

"Me," he acknowledged, trying not to feel awkward at admitting it.

Instead of teasing him, Sara was all business. She waved to Jack to bring them more coffee and said, "You better start at the beginning."

Neal explained how he'd been found on the streets of Arkham.

"And you don't have any memories before that day?" she challenged.

"It's all a blank. I try to think back for any snatches, but it's just one big void. The police searched for someone matching my description, but couldn't find any leads. There's been nothing until yesterday, when I got this from Thaddeus's lawyer." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out the photo. Sara took notes as he explained the discussion Peter and he had about the photo. "My final bit of evidence is this." He reached inside his shirt and pulled out his amulet. Slipping it off his neck, he passed it to her. "I was wearing this when I was found. It appears to be same pendant that the man in the photo is wearing. This is the first clue I've ever had about who I may be related to." Neal had brought along a magnifying glass. He passed it to her so she could examine the photo.

"How about the locket the little girl is wearing?" she asked. "Have you ever seen it?"

"No, I don't recognize it."

"And you want me to investigate the people in the photo?" she asked, handing him his amulet back.

"I'd be very grateful. I don't know any private detectives to ask. I'll gladly pay your fee and expenses."

She quickly shook her head. "You're entitled to my special fake boyfriend rate. That means any payment is delayed till I discover you're the long-lost heir to a fabulous fortune at which point I'll expect full compensation."

Neal chuckled. "Don't get your hopes up."

"Hey, a girl can dream. Did your advisor ever say anything? He must have known something. He left you this photo, after all."

"He probably intended to one day, but he never let me in on his plans. Not once did he ask me about my family or childhood. We only talked about our research and my studies."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"Thaddeus was the only child of Laban Shrewsbury, the famous anthropologist. Thaddeus never married and according to the lawyer has no living relatives. Laban died in 1931 when his house caught fire. The building was a total loss. The only personal memorabilia that survived are those which had been stored in the university library. I'd researched Laban when I gained access to his papers in the vault."

"Wait a minute," she interrupted. "You have vault privileges?"

He nodded. "Lavinia gave me permission last month. At that time she gave me a key to the Shrewsbury cabinet which contains Laban's papers and journals."

"I heard Lavinia only grants permission to a select few and they're all seasoned professors with years of experience at the university." She studied him as if she were seeing him for the first time. It was rather disconcerting and a little flattering. "Does Peter have access, too?"

"He's been able to use the vault for two years."

She sighed and took a sip of coffee. "I so envy you. I've heard about all the treasures the vault contains. When I was an undergrad, I tried to gain Lavinia's confidence. I even took a course on library science to curry her favor. It was a wasted effort. She wouldn't even talk to me."

"Don't feel bad. She seldom gives me the time of day either." Neal proceeded to tell her what he knew about Laban. "He joined the anthropology faculty in 1912 and quickly rose to prominence. His expeditions are well chronicled and you can find reports about them in the anthropology department. There's one anomaly. In 1928 Laban was listed as being away on an extended expedition, but there are no records about it. I don't even know where the dig was. He resumed teaching in January 1930."

"How about his personal life?"

"Laban's wife died in 1929 while he was away. Thaddeus and his father weren't close. He referred to it only once, but I gather he felt that Laban shut him and his mother out of his life. Thaddeus was a grad student at Harvard when Laban died. He'd left Arkham for Boston to attend college and only returned when he took up his appointment in 1934."

She put down her pen. "The Shrewsburys have to be the key. I'll start there. You know me. I won't stop till I've uncovered the answer."

"Thank you, Sara. It's hard to express how much this means to me."

She placed her hand on his. "Not knowing where you came from, who your parents are . . . It can't be easy."

"But you have your job and I know that comes first. I won't pester you."

Her lips quirked into a smile. "What makes you think I'd object to being questioned by someone as mysterious as you? Besides, you're a pleasant change from the lowlifes at Sharkey's." She closed her notebook and put it in her bag. "I hope to have a breakthrough soon on that assignment and then will be able to spend more time on your case. I've let it be known that I'm a talented pickpocket and fence."

"Is that true?" He'd asked Mozzie to teach him lock picking. Perhaps they could exchange tips.

"I'm a fast learner," she said with a sly grin. "I read a book on the art of being a cat burglar. The rest I'm simply making up, but I can be very believable. A couple of the regulars are making overtures for me to join them."

"In a burglary ring?"

"That's the puzzling part. I'm not sure what I'm being invited into. They don't call it a gang. I gather it's more like a spiritual cult."

"Do you know its name?"

She nodded. "It sounds wacky to me. The Church of Starry Wisdom."

 **Sentinel Alehouse. October 22, 1975. Wednesday lunch.**

"Sara talked with a member of the Starry Wisdom cult?" Peter stopped mid-bite to consider Neal's revelation. "She needs to see Diana."

Peter and Mozzie were having lunch with him at the alehouse. The news about Sara's investigation swept other matters off the table.

"Why should your friend share what she knows with the fuzz?" Mozzie grumbled. "It's been three weeks since we discovered the cult's meeting place in the house on Birch Street. If it weren't for us, they'd know nothing."

"Sara's putting her life in danger by associating with that cult." Neal said. "They tried to kill Peter and me. They could do the same with her, only this time succeed. I already called Diana. Sara and I'll meet with her this afternoon. Diana said she was planning to call us. She has news on the cult. Who wants to come along?"

"Count me in," Peter said. "My schedule's free the rest of the day."

Mozzie hesitated. "I'd like to but I'm scheduled to give a lecture on eleven-dimensional supergravity. I could ask my research assistant, Travis, to give it instead, but the lad has been reticent to step into the spotlight."

"I'll give you a full report this evening," Neal promised.

Mozzie twirled his spaghetti onto a fork. "Our lady cop has news . . . I may have been overly hasty in criticizing the lack of progress. Did I mention she wrote me a particularly warm letter of thanks for autographing her copy of my book, _The Brane Game_? You should tell her I'll repeat the lecture on supergravity on Friday evening. I could reserve her a seat in the front."

Neal smiled to himself. He'd been on a campaign to establish friendly relations between Diana and the former antiwar activist. The thaw had begun when Mozzie heard she'd praised his book. Neal had built on the preliminary success by volunteering to take her book to Mozzie to be signed.

"My own studies have not been unproductive," Mozzie continued. "I've been rereading Heinrich Agrippa's _Books on Occult Philosophy_. We know he once owned the armillary sphere now in my possession. It struck me that he might have written about it."

"Did you find any reference?" Peter asked.

He nodded. "Not in the books themselves, but in a letter he wrote to a friend. I quote: " _In studiis inveni, quod arcanam_ —"

Peter cleared his throat. "English, please. I'm used to reading Latin, not having it spoken to me."

"You'll miss out on his antiquated but charming phrasing," Mozzie cautioned, "but this is the gist. Agrippa refers to mysterious brackets on the rings. I'd noticed them myself. The sphere is so complex—there are fifteen separate rings—that the brackets are easy to miss. They're on the inner sides and appear integral to the design."

"Did Agrippa speculate on what the brackets were used for?" Neal asked.

"In a manner of speaking. He dreamed of the sphere— not just once but several times. His experience reminded me of the dreams you had of Peter's starfish artifact. Agrippa wrote that he was in a throne room of an underwater fortress. Through the windows he could see fish swimming and fronds of aquatic plants. His armillary sphere was set upon a table of onyx. Fixed within the sphere were several glowing crystals of different colors—topaz, amethyst, emerald, sapphire, ruby, diamond. The crystals were cut into intricate shapes with beams of colored light projecting from them."

"Wow," Neal murmured, stunned. "Was anyone with him?"

"No. He was alone, but he heard a wooden flute in the distance playing what he called an Eastern tune."

The haunting sound of the flute Neal had heard when he stood at the entrance of the boarded-up Church of St. Jude came back in a flash. He'd heard it again at the monastery on the Plateau of Leng when it was played by the priest in the yellow silk mask.

"Could Agrippa's crystals have any relation to the ruby crystal we've observed?" Peter mused aloud. "It seems wildly speculative to connect our observations with that of a Renaissance philosopher from the sixteenth century."

Mozzie shrugged. "I wouldn't dismiss it out of hand. We've already discovered that one of the rings is inscribed with the same starfish symbol that's on your soapstone artifact, and that we believe is a symbol for Azathoth. Neal foiled an attempt by a ghast to steal the sphere. Who knows what mystery is contained within its rings? Agrippa lived in Lyon when he wrote the letter. I have an acquaintance at the University of Lyon who is also interested in antique astronomical instruments. I intend to write him. He may be able to provide additional information."

"It's best you continue to keep it hidden," Peter advised. "Only our group and Diana know about it."

"And Lavinia," Mozzie added. "She came down to the vault when I was researching Agrippa earlier this week. She seemed quite familiar with the sphere although she divulged nothing that I didn't already know. She also warned me to keep it safe."

"Should it be stored in the library vault?" Neal asked.

"I asked her that very question but she wouldn't allow it." He resumed twirling his spaghetti onto his fork and chuckled. "She even joked I have no need since I have Betelgeuse."

"What a peculiar thing to say," Peter commented. "Had you told her about the zoog Betelgeuse killed?"

"No, but she seemed aware of it."

"Lavinia gave Mozzie Betelgeuse." Neal explained the circumstances. "If Lavinia has a soft spot, I think it's for animals. Those animals that live in her rafters? My latest theory is that they're flying squirrels."

Peter grinned. "That wouldn't be because you think she's squirrelly?"

"I plead the fifth."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sara was already at the police station when Neal arrived with Peter. By now she was well-known to all the cops. She'd pestered almost every one of them at one time or another for a news lead. To be sought out by Diana must be Sara's ultimate thrill.

Neal was amused by her look of triumph as she strode up to them. "You see, I told you that you needed to be more open with me. If you'd only informed me earlier what was going on, I probably could have solved your case for you by now."

"It's not me you needed to convince but Diana," Peter pointed out calmly.

"And now I'm welcoming you to the table," Diana added as she walked up. She led them to a small questioning room off the squad room. Neal had extensive familiarity with the space. It was where not so long ago she'd put him and Peter through the grinder of her interrogation tactics. Now he'd be able to sit back, relax, and watch her attempt to do the same with Sara.

As they entered the room, Diana cast him a questioning look. "Anything?"

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. It had become routine that whenever he saw Diana, she asked if he'd made a breakthrough on deciphering the glyphs on the starfish. Neither one needed to go into details. How he yearned for the day he could surprise her with a positive response.

She sat down and drummed her fingers impatiently on the table. "How much longer are we talking about?"

Sara grimaced. "This is precisely why the police have such a bad reputation. Talking in code and riddles is no way to gain my cooperation."

Diana turned to face her. "Neal told me you've been investigating gang activity on the waterfront."

"That's right. It's for an exposé I'm writing," Sara said, divulging the bare minimum of information in her response. They then entered into a sparring match over who could cough up less before obtaining answers to her own questions.

"Withholding evidence that may be vital to a police investigation is an actionable offense," Diana warned, using her most intimidating scowl.

Sara snorted. "How could I possibly know what's vital since you won't tell me anything?"

"We've been burned before by reporters who disclose sensitive information without our approval," she retorted. "That's not about to happen to me. If you want to get yourself killed by refusing to cooperate, I can't stop you, but I'm sure as hell not going to help you."

"Weren't you the one who requested the meeting?" Sara said, glaring back at her.

"How about if Sara signs a non-disclosure agreement like Peter and I did?" Neal suggested.

"I can vouch for her integrity," Peter added. He didn't know her that well, but must have been relying on what Neal had told him. Judging by the look of gratitude Sara tossed Peter, he'd just earned a friend for life. Several moments of negotiation later with Sara agreeing to the restrictions in return for exclusive rights to a future story, they were able to move forward.

Sara went first and explained how she'd been working as a bartender at Sharkey's on the waterfront to infiltrate a gang. She'd chatted up several potential gang members, a couple of whom mentioned the Church of Starry Wisdom. "I haven't found any other reference to it yet."

"I can supply some details," Diana offered. "We first ran into the name when Peter and Neal _chanced_ upon a house being used for their meetings. The cult was formed back in 1844 by a professor at Miskatonic University."

At that, both Neal and Peter's jaws dropped. Diana chuckled. "I thought that would get your attention. Have you ever heard of Enoch Bowen?"

"Not that crackpot?" Peter said, rolling his eyes. "Bowen was an archaeologist. I use the term _crackpot_ literally. He destroyed so many artifacts with his roughshod techniques that his diploma should have been revoked. According to the tales I heard, he spent more time on alchemy and the occult than on archaeology. He specialized in ancient Egypt. During my early research I'd looked him up, but his methods were deplorable. He didn't believe in scientific excavation. Took only haphazard notes of his discoveries."

Diana nodded as if what he said was old news. "Your crackpot colleague was also the founder of the Arkham branch of the Church of Starry Wisdom. The so-called church was devoted to the worship of the god Azathoth. The police records state that the cult quickly gained notoriety. Citizens filed reports of sacrifices, mysterious disappearances, and murders. Bowen professed complete ignorance of the crimes and claimed their 'church' was the victim of unwarranted persecution. The cult was disbanded in 1846 after the townspeople attempted to lynch several of its members."

"What happened to the professor?" Neal asked.

"He left Arkham in 1848 and was never heard of again." Diana paused for a moment, looking down at her notes. "Here we get into an even murkier part. Many of the reports were filled with superstitious nonsense and I'm stating for the record that their validity is highly questionable. On the other hand, there are a few points in common with the bizarre accounts Neal and Peter have made which they swear are factual."

Sara didn't interrupt her but she tossed Neal a look which spoke more eloquently than words. He'd be hearing about that later.

"Cult members described a mysterious metal box which was used in the rites. They claimed it contained an immense ruby crystal, cut into an oddly-shaped polyhedron, which they called a trapezohedron."

Neal exchanged surprised glances with Peter. What Diana described sounded like the ruby crystal Neal had found at the abandoned church. A similarly shaped crystal had appeared on the wall of the house on Birch Street. Mozzie believed the crystal was a device capable of creating wormholes through space.

"Did the reports mention what the cultists used the crystal for?" Neal asked.

"Supposedly to speak with an emissary to their god, a mysterious priest who wore a yellow silk mask." The priest Neal had seen in the ice monastery at Leng also wore a mask of the same color. He claimed to be the servant of Azathoth. At the time of his experience, Neal didn't know if he'd actually traveled there or had a vision. But how could so many people have had apparently the same vision?

"Are there any other reports about the cult?" Sara asked while she scribbled notes.

"I didn't find anything in the States, but when I made an inquiry with Interpol, they'd said the name Azathoth had popped up a few times in connection with criminal gangs. Your turn now. What have you learned?"

"One of the regulars at Sharkey's is urging me to join the group. He's offered no specifics, but made vague promises of it being very profitable. He claims the Church promises to take care of all the needs of its members. Basically, I'll be rich beyond my wildest dreams."

"What's his name?"

"Chad Lawson. He works as a carpenter in the shipyard. He's taken quite a fancy to me. Chad seems nice enough. He doesn't appear to know much about the sect."

 _Chad Lawson_. Neal's heart thudded to the floor when he heard the name. He'd thought that jerk was out of his life, and instead he was now friends with Sara. Not only that, but Sara was actively encouraging him. Should Neal warn her about him? He might have changed. It had been six years since Neal last saw him.

Chad had been a star on the football team. The girls at school seemed to find him irresistible. In some respects, he was just Sara's type, the kind of boneheaded jock Kate used to tease her about. Hadn't she learned anything? Neal fought to tamp down his dismay. He wasn't being fair. This was simply an assignment to Sara. She wasn't really interested in him . . . probably.

Sara was continuing to describe her plans to infiltrate the cult. "Based on the conversations I've had with others, I suspect the group is responsible for much of the gang violence going on in the wharf district. If I can be accepted as a member, I may be able to find out who their leader is."

"You understand you're taking quite a risk," Diana admonished. "We'll only be able to offer you limited protection."

"I can take care of myself," Sara quickly asserted. Had she ever actually been in danger or was this the brashness born out of innocence? She had no concept of ghasts, nightgaunts, or zoogs, all of which had been associated with the cult.

"If you're invited to a meeting, you need to wear a wire," Diana cautioned. "Keeping us informed of your activities is the best way to keep you safe."

"All right, but my clothes are pretty skimpy. I know how to get cult members interested in me. I don't want any unusual bulges alerting them."

How revealing were Sara's clothes? Was she lighting a fuse that would explode in her face? Diana didn't help at all when she agreed. "Sex sells, just be careful how you use it."

"I have a gun permit. I've trained in self-defense and martial arts. I can handle whatever comes." Sara's air of self-confidence did nothing to dismiss Neal's concerns.

"If you're willing to take the risk, you need to know certain peculiarities to the crime spree." Diana paused to eye Sara pointedly. "You remember your agreement, right?"

Sara nodded. "Of course. What do you have?"

Diana placed a manila folder on the table. She opened it and handed Sara several photos. "Starfish were discovered near victims at a series of murders that have occurred over the past several months. Some of them appear to have been the weapon used in the crime. We suspect the Starry Wisdom cult to be involved."

"What are the starfish made of?" Sara asked, studying the photos. "And what are these marks? Symbols?"

"They all resemble an artifact which Peter discovered in an Egyptian tomb." Diana turned to Peter. "You can describe it better than me."

"The artifact Diana mentioned is made of green soapstone. I found it in a protodynastic tomb of Iry-Hor, a pharaoh of the thirty-second century BC. We suspect the marks are an ancient writing system. Neal has been attempting to decipher it."

Sara looked up. "And the starfish in the photos—are they of the same age and composition?"

"We haven't been able to confirm that yet," Peter said.

"Why not?"

"Because they've all disappeared," Diana admitted.

Sara's eyes widened. "What do you mean by disappeared? Were they stolen?"

"No, at least we don't think so."

"They _poofed_ out of existence," Neal added.

Sara started to laugh but when no one else did, she demanded an explanation. Diana described how the carvings winked out in the evidence vault. Sara's skepticism was roughly equivalent to Peter's when he first heard about it. "And no one's discovered the cause?" she asked.

"Not yet," Diana said, shaking her head gloomily. "If Neal can decipher the meaning of the symbols, they may give us a clue."

"How about your artifact?" Sara asked, turning to Peter. "Any signs of _poofing_?"

Much to Neal's relief, Peter didn't answer that although his artifact hadn't _poofed_ , he and Neal had.

Sara scanned the group. "Are there any other supernatural occurrences I should be aware of?"

Neal eyed Peter. Where to start? Jackal-headed ghasts, dragon-like nightgaunts, worm-faced zoogs, or ruby crystals transporting them off world? Fortunately, Diana let them off the hook by walking her through the account as she understood it of their previous encounters with ghasts and the zoogs that were being seen. When Sara recovered from her initial conviction they were playing a Halloween prank, she was scribbling so much that she went through one entire notebook and started a second.

Diana spoke for all of them when she said, "Now that you've heard, would you like to retract your offer? You volunteered to infiltrate the cult, but that was before you had all the facts. How do you feel now?"

"More convinced than ever that I need to do this."

Diana studied her a minute and then nodded. "I don't have the authority to stop you, but you're smart. Use your head. You know a situation can get out of control easily. I'd like you to consider having my partner, Detective Jones, work with you undercover. He could be disguised as a longshoreman. I'll speak with him about it."

Sara hesitated and then agreed. Neal was pleased to hear it. Jones was familiar with the sea and would have no difficulty in blending in as a longshoreman. He was also an expert shot and looked like he could easily handle any kind of confrontation.

"I need to head to my shift," Sara said, glancing at her watch. "I hope to see Chad there. I'll keep you posted."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter and Neal left the police station with her. Peter could tell the questions were sputtering on her lips, but she waited till they'd left the building before making her attack. Jumping in front of them, she held a hand out to stop them. "Plainly what Diana told me wasn't the entire story. I've signed that confidentiality agreement. I need to know everything."

"I realize that," Neal protested. "I was the one who insisted you talk with Diana, remember?"

She nodded. "I do, and I'm grateful. Do you have any free time tomorrow morning?"

"Sorry," Peter said, "I'm booked solid all day, but I believe Neal's classes are over at eleven." He was glad to see Neal didn't resist the suggestion. He was the one who needed to decide how much to disclose. When Diana gave the bare-bones overview of the extraordinary events of the past month, Peter had tried to put himself in Sara's place. She must have been frustrated by the lack of detail. To her credit, she hadn't immediately pressed for specifics, but it was inevitable she'd seek more information.

They escorted her to her car before heading back to the campus. The university was a short walk up Trinity Avenue from the police station. That gave Peter plenty of time to get an answer to his own question. "Care to fill me in on Chad Lawson? You appeared to recognize the name."

"I was that obvious?" Neal asked, wincing.

"Maybe not to them. Sara and Diana were focused on each other."

Neal grunted. Not much of a response. Neal liked Sara despite his denials of any romantic interest. Hearing how she was using her sex appeal to cozy up to cult members would have been unsettling to any friend, but Peter felt that wasn't the reason for Neal's look of dismay when he heard the news. Something else was going on.

"Chad lived in the same foster home I did." At Neal's words, any notion of joshing him for being jealous vanished. Neal's life in foster care had been an unhappy one. El suspected he'd been physically abused though he wouldn't talk about it. Mozzie had discussed it not long ago with Peter. There'd been someone in particular that Mozzie had given a nickname to. Peter thought for a moment before it came to him. Bad News Chad. Now it made sense.

"He's three years older than me and built like a linebacker. He gave me a pretty rough time," Neal admitted. "I suppose I should thank him. He provided powerful motivation for me to graduate high school early so I could get away from him."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Now Peter, don't go grizzly on me. I survived and he claimed nothing was intentional. I quickly learned playing football was a bad idea, and once I started college, I didn't see him again." He smiled and this time it wasn't forced. "He's not a fan of bookstores and the library. Too bad. I wouldn't mind seeing Lavinia lay into him."

"But you were only sixteen when you started at Miskatonic. You must have continued to have run-ins when you went home."

"Don't call that place home," Neal shot back. "My foster parents didn't approve of my starting college. They thought it would cost them too much, even though I had a full scholarship. Mozzie interceded on my behalf. He petitioned the court to be my guardian and my foster parents were happy to get rid of me."

Peter couldn't believe that was true but didn't attempt to dissuade him about what was clearly a painful topic. His disclosure explained why he and Mozzie were so close and gave Peter additional appreciation of the scientist. Mozzie might have his quirks but his heart was in the right place. Without him, Neal's life would have been much more difficult.

"Perhaps Chad has mellowed," Neal said. "I don't know what he was like with his dates. I feel that I should warn Sara, but I don't want to malign the guy for stuff he did years ago. If I simply say I dislike him, she may think I'm acting out of jealousy."

"That's a tough question, but on this, I think you should tell her. From what I've heard about Sharkey's, Chad's not the only rough customer she has to deal with. Since she's targeted Chad, she needs as complete a picture as possible about him."

* * *

 _Notes: In this chapter Neal speculates about what kind of animals may be living in Lavinia's rafters. They come out from hiding in next week's chapter: Breakthrough. Also on the docket is a face-to-face encounter between Neal and Chad— it's not a happy one, alas. Much more pleasant for Neal is his time with Sara. Many thanks to Penna for all the tea-leaf stirring we've done about Neal and Sara's relationship in this series. I hope you're enjoying it._

 _Neal's advisor Thaddeus is an O/C but Laban Shrewsbury was created by August Derleth. Laban is the hero of a series of short stories called The Trail of Cthulhu. Laban's adventures in those stories provided much inspiration for Arkham Files. I also made liberal use of Lovecraft's account of the early history of the Church of Starry Wisdom and the archaeologist Enoch Bowen. The references are in "The Haunter of the Dark," the short story Azathoth tried to promote as a movie in my story The Mirror._

 _As for Heinrich Agrippa, to my knowledge he never appeared in any Lovecraft stories. The Arkham Round Table wanted to concoct a mystery which is linked to incidents in their world, in particular the mystery Azathoth wove around Galileo, another Renaissance scientist. If you're curious about the references, you can find more information in my blog post, "Azathoth, Meet Agrippa."_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals and Music: The Arkham Files board at the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	3. Breakthrough

**Neal's Office. Wingate Hall, Miskatonic University. October 23, 1975. Thursday morning.**

"Just sit back and relax. This won't hurt a bit."

Sara unscrewed the cap of the thermos bottle and poured Neal a cup of coffee. She'd used precisely the same intonation his dentist did right before surgery with exactly the same result—Neal was more stressed than ever. This was not a hopeful sign.

She'd shown up at his office, as agreed, at eleven o'clock to perform her information extraction. Neal had spent the previous evening conducting an internal debate over how much he should disclose. Diana had only mentioned the ruby crystal in connection to the Starry Wisdom cult. She hadn't explained that the crystal appeared to be a portal to wormholes. She'd made no reference to his off-world experiences. But if Sara were confronted by the ruby crystal didn't she need to be aware of the danger?

And how much should he tell her about Chad? Sara had wasted her undergraduate years dating a jock who had many of the same characteristics as Chad. Was she about to fall into the same trap? How could Neal possibly concentrate on his work when his fake girlfriend was making what could be the worst mistake of her life? He'd been so distracted during his class on Anglo-Saxon language and literature, he'd started speaking Old Norse instead. Not that his students noticed anything.

Sara had signed a confidentiality report. He didn't have to worry she would leak the story. Despite her constant teasing, he knew he could trust her.

Sara was doing her best to put him at ease. She'd brought along hazelnut coffee and chocolate almond biscotti. She even supplied party plates and napkins, claiming they were holding a Mad Hatter's tea party. She didn't know how right she was.

"I have a simple list of questions," she said, pulling out her notebook. "Here's a sampling. Why did you see the ghast in the bookstore but no one else did? When I asked Diana about the nightgaunt flying over Arkham, she mentioned you'd witnessed it. Had Peter as well? And where precisely did you see it? Diana told me to avoid the ruby crystal but gave no reason why. Does that mean I'm supposed to avoid all jewelry? I'm quite fond of sparklies."

When Neal attempted to interrupt her, she waved him off. "No one's explained how you discovered a completely unknown element. Then there are these _poofing_ starfish . . . " She looked up from her notepad and made a face. "This simply won't do. If I'm to be a partner, I need to understand what's going on. Right now, all I know is that you're at the center of all this weirdness and you have an unknown past."

Neal took a sip of coffee and plunged in. "What would you like to know first?"

Her face lit up. "That's the kind of attitude I like to see! Let's be traditional and start at the beginning. Why did you go to the rare bookstore with Peter when you must have known it would be closed?"

Fair question, but impossible to explain without going into his visions. Unexpectedly, talking with her about them was much easier than he'd anticipated. Instead of mocking him, she grilled him for specifics.

From visions to ghasts, his experiences at the church, the Nautical Shop, and finally what happened to him and Peter in the house on Birch Street, he laid it all out. She insisted on every detail he could remember of the world he and Peter had glimpsed from the tower. When he described the shantaks flying around the Plateau of Leng, she was much more receptive than Diana had been.

By the end of the interview Sara knew as much as Diana. But when it came to the algolnium within him and Peter . . . that he withheld. He didn't know why. He'd already told her so much.

"You know Chad Lawson, don't you?" she asked, breaking into his thoughts. "I could tell you recognized the name."

"Chad lived in the foster home with me. Let's just leave it that we didn't get along. Be careful around him. I haven't seen him in years and he may have changed. I hope so."

"Thanks. I appreciate you telling me. I haven't witnessed anything disturbing, but I'll be on my guard." She snapped her notebook shut. "You know what this is, don't you? The story of the century, perhaps of several centuries, and I can't publish a word of it. But that doesn't mean I can't write about it. Your experiences are like Gulliver's Travels blended with Sherlock Holmes. You need a chronicler and I'll happily sign up to be your Watson."

"I don't think of you as Watson. You're Sherlock, and any help you can provide will be welcome."

She grinned at his answer. "You do need a private detective. For instance, the armillary sphere. Has anyone checked into where the Nautical Shop obtained it? You've got ghasts looking for it. It has to be important. I may be able to trace its origin."

"Would you like to see it? I can give Mozzie a call."

"That's what you call Professor Atwood? I've seen him in the science building but never met him."

Neal placed the call while Sara packed up the picnic supplies. Mozzie was delighted for them to come over. He'd dropped by Neal's loft the previous night to hear about the meeting with Diana, and Neal had explained about Sara's role in the investigation. It had taken a while, but once Mozzie latched onto the thought that Sara was acting as their Bob Woodward, he'd been glad to accept her assistance.

When Neal hung up, Sara was standing at his window, using his binoculars to observe the sky. Handing them back to him, she asked, "Do you check for nightgaunts with these?"

"Occasionally," he admitted. "There are advantages to being on the top floor of a building."

"You're Carter in the clouds. Visiting you is like being in an eagle aerie on the top of a mountain."

Neal liked the comparison. "Kate was a birder. She got me started."

"I remember how she always carried a pair of binoculars in her bag. It's a useful tactic. You never know when you may spot shantaks . . . or starlings." She paused expectantly. Sara had deliberately muddled the lyrics to "Woodstock" by substituting starlings for stardust. It had become their private joke.

"You realize starlings are considered a nuisance bird," he said, faking a frown. "If you're going to remain my fake girlfriend as well as my Sherlock, you'll need to adopt another bird as your mascot."

Her eyes lit up. "Thank you! I was sure you were going to say a starling was the perfect symbol for me."

"No, not starling." Neal thought a moment. "Maybe mockingbird. Excellent mimic—the perfect skill for a con artist."

She nodded smugly. "That's a keeper."

"Mockingbirds call at all hours of the day or night, refusing to listen to reason. They're known to attack foes much bigger than themselves and are persistent to the point of annoyance."

"I'm glad you appreciate my sterling qualities," she said with a grin. "We need to celebrate the moment. You took me to a concert. It's my turn."

"Yeah, but that didn't really count. The tickets were free. Elizabeth had gotten extras."

"Exactly. That was perfect for the fake relationship we have. I'd like to reciprocate in kind. The newspaper received some free movie passes, and my boss gave me two of them. They're for this weekend and I don't have to work on Friday evening. Since you pointed out free tickets don't count as a real date, you have no reason to object going with me."

Neal had no intention of turning down the invitation. Sara had reacted well to the news about Chad. She was no longer merely Sara, the news-ferret. She'd become a partner in the mysteries swirling around them, and having a mockingbird to help was welcome.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie was more than willing to answer Sara's questions. He had a soft spot for pretty women. Within a couple of minutes, Sara had him eating out of her hand.

She took several photos of the armillary sphere, while Mozzie described his research on the object. The owner of the Nautical Shop told Mozzie he'd acquired it at an antique store in Providence, and Sara promised to contact the store's owner. Mozzie also showed her the starfish symbol inscribed on one of the rings and explained his discoveries about Heinrich Agrippa. He'd already written his colleague in Lyon, Philippe Vannier, about it.

"I wonder if there was a branch of the Starry Wisdom cult in Lyon," she speculated. "Agrippa could have been a member."

Mozzie was fascinated by the possibility, linking it to some of the occult messages in Agrippa's works. While they talked, Neal studied the sphere once more. It had been nearly a week since his last exercise in frustration. He let his eyes unfocus as he stared into the sphere . . .

"Neal?"

He glanced up to see Sara had stood up. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"You're not turning into an absent-minded professor on me, are you?" she accused.

"You caught me," he admitted, seizing on the excuse. She had enough to investigate and was already late for another appointment. He could tell her later.

After she left, Mozzie turned to him excitedly. "I know that look! Did you have a vision?"

"Not exactly." Neal rose to study the rings more closely. "I can see writing on the rings. It was never visible before. If it were a vision, I wouldn't still be about to view it, right?"

Mozzie stared at the rings. "All I see are the standard symbols—degree marks, cardinal points, planetary symbols."

"There are also bands of script, and underneath the standard symbols you see are equations."

"Confound it, what's wrong with my eyes!" He passed him a sheet of paper. "Write down those equations."

Neal began writing the complex formulas, constantly checking his notes for accuracy. He was no mathematician. He'd never gone past trigonometry, much to Mozzie's dismay. This was far beyond his ability to comprehend. The writing had similarities to the script in the crystal manuscript. "Has Cyrus ever analyzed the chemical composition of the sphere?"

"No, but he will now."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter heard about the discovery, he rushed over. Both he and Neal were disappointed when his attempts were as fruitless as Mozzie's. At the conclusion of the experiment, all of them were frustrated. Peter and Mozzie believed they had the greatest cause, but Neal was equally disappointed. Although he could see the writing, he had no idea what it meant. As for the formulas, Mozzie said they resembled gravitational wave equations, but he was at a loss to explain their significance.

Neal had happened upon the crystal manuscript the first time he gained access to the Shrewsbury cabinet. Embedded within a slab of what appeared to be translucent quartz, the three-dimensional bronze-colored script consisted of intricate complex arabesques of strokes unlike any other Neal had seen. The crystal itself was a puzzle. Although approximately two inches thick, the six by ten inch rectangular slab weighed no more than a feather.

The script on the armillary sphere resembled a razor-thin slice of the slab, provoking the inevitable speculation that the same race who wrote the crystal had either created the sphere or had inscribed it at a later time.

As soon as his afternoon classes were over, Neal headed to the library vault, hoping to acquire fresh insights. But beyond a confirmation of the similarities in the script, there was little he could do to solve the mystery.

Since staring at the crystal slab was getting him nowhere, Neal returned to the appendices in the _Necronomicon_. But he left the crystal out on the table while he worked. Osmosis was as good a technique as any at the moment.

The vault was quiet. The only sound was the scratching of his pen. As Neal shifted his focus to the appendices, he noticed an effect he'd experienced before. Perhaps because of all the hours he'd worked on the text, every once in a while he had the eerie sensation of hearing a man's voice whispering to him in an unknown tongue . . .

Lavinia's arrival at the vault was the equivalent of being doused with ice water. Now, just as he was starting to make significant progress, she was dragging him away? When she ordered him to her office, his pleas that the translation was within his grasp fell on deaf ears.

Lavinia stood at the door and folded her arms, her scowl deepening. "Put your materials away. You won't be coming back tonight. I'm instituting new hours for the vault. Effective immediately, closing time is at ten o'clock. Do you realize how long you've been here?"

"I got here after my classes . . ." Neal looked at his watch. It was already past midnight.

"According to the logbook, you arrived over six hours ago. That's inexcusable." She glanced at the crystal manuscript. "Has this been out the entire time?"

"You'll understand when I explain." But that was not to be. She listened in stony silence to his report about the armillary sphere while he locked the crystal manuscript and his notes in the Shrewsbury cabinet and returned the _Necronomicon_ to the shelf. She was treating him like a schoolkid who'd been ordered to the principal's office. It was beyond frustrating.

Neal argued with her even as he followed her down the hallway to the back of the library then up the narrow spiral staircase to her office. When she brought up vault madness, he asked for details about what had happened with Thaddeus. She expected him to be afraid of a disease that no one had proven even existed? They weren't living in the Dark Ages.

Neal was no stranger to her office. Like Mozzie's, it was in a reality a suite with a small kitchen and sleep area off the main room. When they arrived, she ordered him to sit at the tapestry-covered oak table in the middle of the room while she retired into the kitchen to make tea.

It was past midnight and she was serving tea?

Neal was not in the mood. He'd been yanked from his research and now would no doubt be subjected to more of her lecture. If she didn't want him in the vault, why couldn't he go home? He might as well address his questions to the animals he suspected lived in the exposed rafters of the turret. He could predict in advance Lavinia would provide him with no answers.

Neal looked up for any sign of the golden-eyed creatures he'd spotted before. But they were as elusive as explanations from their mistress.

Now that he was away from the vault, exhaustion settled on him like a shroud. He folded his arms on the table and laid his head down. Arabic letters danced in front of his eyes. He'd identified five new letters in the appendices. Each one carried a meaning component which was separate from the phonetic aspect. He could see the script in his mind, the new letters glowing . . .

A soft chittering caused him to open his eyes. He turned his head to see a small silver-furred animal on his shoulder. It resembled a bushbaby with enormous golden eyes. It was tiny—only about five inches—with a long bushy tail. Neal stroked the animal and it chittered more loudly. The sound reminded him of Betelgeuse's purrs but with a stronger rattle.

"So you finally decided to come down and meet me," he murmured, not wanting to frighten it. "How many friends do you have in the rafters?" Neal had been hearing them for a little over a month, but this was the first time one had approached him. As he tickled the creature behind its ears, it scrambled closer and rubbed its head on his neck. He slowly sat up and the animal scampered onto his chest. Now he could see that its back was covered with bright emerald spots. He'd never seen anything like it, but he'd only seen a few bushbabies in zoos. How had Lavinia acquired it?

As Neal continued to stroke it, the bushbaby reached a paw inside his shirt. Its digits were like fingers and covered with soft fur. No claws that he could detect.

It pulled out his amulet and began to bat it as if it were a plaything.

Neal felt his shoulder being shaken and looked up to see Lavinia standing in front of him. "You see, I knew you'd overdone it. Drink your tea before you fall back asleep." She pointed to the cup in front of him.

 _Where had the animal gone?_ When he asked her about it, she claimed he was dreaming.

"But I'm sure I saw it," he protested, craning his neck to check out the rafters above him. No eyes were to be seen. No sounds of any sort. Was Lavinia right? "If that was a dream, then tell me what kind of animal lives in your rafters?"

"That's not your concern," she said brusquely.

Neal's mouth dropped at her rudeness. "You can't deny their existence. I've already seen them, or at least their eyes. Why can I see them when Peter can't?"

He expected her not to reply, but Lavinia was impossible to predict. "He may in time. There is much you don't understand and that's for the best. You would only have more questions."

"In other words you're keeping me in the dark for my own good? I'd have fewer questions if you'd be more forthcoming." He considered it a futile effort to reason with her, but he had to try. "Help me understand. It's not just me. It's Peter. You refused to speak with his wife, but then you insist on my coming upstairs to have tea with you. Why?"

Her scowl intensified but he held his ground. Being interrogated by Diana appeared to be paying dividends. He wouldn't have dared talk to her that way a few weeks ago.

"Don't insult me with generalities. If you have a specific question, ask it."

Did she mean it? Neal decided to test her. "I accept your offer and choose to start with my pendant. You called it an amulet and were aware I had it. You were the one who told me to wear it. How did you know it's an amulet? I learned that you arrived in Arkham the same year I was found. Is there any connection?"

She snorted as if to convey the message, _Is that the best you can come up with?_ "The newspaper carried the account of you being found on the streets and included a photo of the amulet. It's plain that's what it was. To assume there is any link between us is absurd. There, I hope you're satisfied. I answered not one but two questions."

She called those answers? Neal was just getting warmed up but before he could fire another round, she shot off another of her own. "I saw your paintings in the coffeehouse. Where did you get the inspiration?"

This was not going as he'd hoped, but she had a way of commanding answers that he couldn't ignore. "I'd dreamed about them. According to you, that must mean they don't exist."

She ignored his sarcasm. "When did you dream about them?"

"When I was at Oxford. I occasionally still do."

Before he could ask her about them, she asked him why he'd been studying the crystal manuscript in the vault. He described what he'd seen on Mozzie's armillary sphere. But when he asked her for an explanation, she refused, saying that when he could read the crystal manuscript he'd understand.

He attempted to question her about Thaddeus. Peter had disclosed that Lavinia believed Neal's advisor had become addicted to the books in the vault and succumbed to vault madness. But he couldn't ask her directly without revealing his source. She deftly evaded his questions while probing him about his own research into the appendices. The aromatic tea she served did little to dispel Neal's fatigue. He longed to dream of emerald-spotted bushbabies rather than be grilled by Lavinia.

When she dismissed him shortly afterward, he suspected she was as frustrated as him. Taunting him with the crystal manuscript was a low blow. And now she was restricting his hours. Based on what? A plague that was unknown to medical science?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

 _The child is advancing too quickly_. Lavinia sighed as she moved into the kitchen. At the rate his ability was increasing, he would have the appendices translated within a week. Azathoth left them no choice, but Neal should have been at least ten years older. Soon he would be able to translate anything he looked at, even the crystal manuscript.

If only she could keep Neal safe by hiding him in the vault along with the rare books. Humans were so unpredictable . . . challenging her with questions of his own . . . Where did this new temerity come from? Peter's confidence was rubbing off on him. She shouldn't be surprised. That's what she'd hoped for, but would the pair become too much to handle? What was the expression? Once the genie was out of the bottle . . .

She chittered softly, and Ch'uli scampered down to perch on her shoulder. "You're a mischief maker," she scolded gently, stroking the silver fur. "Visiting Neal while I was in the kitchen? How could I have explained you to him? He may dream of Merope and paint its forests, but I don't think he's ready to meet us quite yet."

Ch'uli chittered an eager reply. She was full of sass. Not like her mate Ch'orri, who was probably still asleep. Neal was talking back like Ch'uli. Was that partly her influence? Was the chittak communicating telepathically with him? If it hadn't happened already, it wouldn't be long.

Ch'uli curled her tail around Lavinia's neck as she strode into the kitchen. Phineas would have to be consulted. She retrieved the jar of Meropian night-blossom powder to prepare an infusion. The chittak jumped off her shoulder to play among the utensils in the drawer as she worked.

When the basin was ready, she carried it into the office and placed it on the table. Ch'uli scampered up her back and leaped onto the table. Resting her paws on the edge of the basin, she breathed in the steam along with Lavinia . . .

"Yes?" Phineas sounded peeved. As his image in the infusion gradually came into focus, Lavinia could tell it was nighttime in the Amazon. He appeared to be sitting inside a tent and was illuminated by a lantern. Fortunately he had his clothes on. There'd been that regrettable instance when she'd contacted him and he was in the shower. The anatomy of the human male could be quite off-putting.

"Betelgeuse killed a zoog on the roof of Derleth Hall only yards from Neal and Mozzie."

"The armillary sphere?"

"Safe, for the moment at least."

"It could be a coincidence, I suppose."

"A zoog so near Neal and the sphere? I doubt it highly. You remember that night Neal and Peter traveled to Azathoth's world? They mentioned a zoog was in the house. I suspect zoogs have been tracking them ever since."

"I hope you've warned them."

Ch'uli chittered into the basin.

"Yes, well, that's true, Ch'uli," he acknowledged. "They already know the zoogs are dangerous."

Lavinia tickled the base of Ch'uli's tail, hoping that would keep her quiet. "The zoog presence concerns me. They're small enough they can survive on Earth for weeks before disintegrating. Is Azathoth using them purely as scouts or has he developed another purpose for them?"

"So far I've heard of no other reports of zoog activity except in Arkham, but that may not last. We knew this day would come. The crystal manuscript calls to Neal. Does he realize it yet?"

"No, but he's been dreaming of the planets Celaeno and Merope for a year. I've seen paintings he's made of them."

"Interesting. I'd planted those dreams in Oxford. I was curious to see how he'd react."

"You might have had the courtesy to tell me," she said, remarkably mildly under the circumstances. "Peter's wife suspects a link between Neal and me."

"And you're surprised? Once you ordered him to wear the amulet, the jig was up. And you were the one who recommended lacing your emerald wine with Meropian algolnium for Peter. That wasn't my idea."

"I had to. The boy will need help for the challenges he'll face, and without algolnium Peter would have been powerless to assist. You should be thankful. If I hadn't, Peter would have died in the house on Birch Street, and we would have had to start from scratch."

"In that case you should have given him a larger dose. Can Peter even see ghasts?"

"Not so far, but you know it will take time for the algolnium within him to strengthen."

Phineas snorted disapproval. "You should have given him a hefty dose and been done with it. The goose is out of the bag. You might as well go ahead and tell them everything."

"Your usage of slang becomes more bizarre by the day. How they put up with you at Oxford is beyond my comprehension. We saw the consequences of higher doses with Thaddeus. We can't take the risk again. But to confirm, your recommendation is that I go ahead and tell Neal about Celaeno. Tell him that he has Celaenian DNA. We're fortunate humans haven't learned how to sequence it yet. Their rudimentary science hasn't discovered the difference between Neal's algolnium and what's in Peter. But you want me to take that goose out and wave it in front of him. Tell him about the Elnath, the race who colonized Earth. Tell him about Azathoth and the Ymar who continue to plot to enslave Earth. Then I'll inform Neal and Peter about Merope and us."

"You know perfectly well you can't do that. Not yet anyway." He sneezed. "Stop tickling me, little one!"

"Phineas, I'd hardly tickle—

"Not _you_ , the toucanet." Lavinia saw a small bird with an enormous bill peer out from behind his head. Typical Phineas. Living with birds in his tent.

He settled the toucanet firmly on his shoulder. "We know that the Celaenian DNA enhances Neal's language and telepathic abilities. Now that he's been exposed to the crystal manuscript, the process accelerates. I'm scheduled to deliver a lecture at Miskatonic in November. We could explain the situation then. Neal has met me as Phineas. It will be less of a shock."

"Will Azathoth hold off that long?" She hesitated a moment. "When I examined Neal after his trip to Leng, I was concerned that the priest had injured him. At the time I didn't detect anything. But now I'm not so sure. Neal told me he heard whispers coming from the Book of Azathoth. He heard a flute through the ruby crystal. Is Azathoth calling to him?"

"Possibly, or it could be his telepathic ability is enabling him to sense the enemy's presence."

"Thaddeus had no telepathic ability but Azathoth was able to reach out to him," she reminded him. "He died last week. Will Neal be like Icarus? Destroyed because of his youth and immaturity?"

"For Earth's sake, that better not be the case."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next day, Neal met Peter and Mozzie in the afternoon at Dorian's coffeehouse. When they heard of Lavinia's interest in his paintings, they'd decided to move them to Peter's house for safekeeping.

"I was in India when you painted them," Mozzie said. "I fault myself for not having examined them more closely. Travis mentioned how striking they were." He studied the forestscape. "You said there was abundant wildlife yet there aren't any that I can see."

"I only caught glimpses of birds in flight, giant butterflies, monkeys. That's why the painting is much more impressionistic than my normal style."

"We should display them in the dining room," Mozzie declared, "for the Algolnium Web to be inspired by them." That was Mozzie's term for their working group. The first meetings had been held at the faculty club but El offered the use of the dining room in their house for their new command center. On Sundays over cheese and cold cuts, they went over the research from the week. Everyone brought food and drinks to share.

"El may not want these hanging on her walls," Neal protested.

"I can guarantee she will," Peter said confidently. "I wish you'd prepare another painting of the beachscape but this time leave the moons in."

Jack Dorian, the owner of the coffeehouse, came out of his office, carrying two paintings under his arm. "I'm going to miss those. You'll have to paint more for me sometime." He hung a watercolor of a woman playing a guitar where the beachscape had been. "Too bad Halloween's so close. You probably don't have the time, but I'd love something spooky."

"I know just the scene," Mozzie said, holding up his hands to frame an imaginary painting. "A church spire in the midst of a thunderstorm, circling it is a —"

"—witch on a broomstick," Neal interrupted hastily before Mozzie mentioned anything about nightgaunts.

"Perfect," Jack said. "Any chance of a rush job?" The brass bells on the coffeehouse door rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. When Jack turned around to see who it was, he reddened. Quickly propping up the other painting on the wall, he headed to the front.

Curious, Neal turned to see who it was. Detective Diana Briscoe? She was in her standard brown pantsuit. Did she ever wear anything else? Not looking particularly sexy, but by Jack's expression, she was Cybill Shepherd in _The Heartbreak Kid_. Was she going to break Jack's heart?

"What are you grinning at?" Peter murmured.

"Jack," Neal whispered back. "He'd mentioned he'd fallen for someone. I think he has a crush on Diana."

"Really? How well does he know her?"

"I don't think he's gotten to first base. He's been admiring her from afar. The last I heard, he planned to serenade her outside her window."

Diana wasn't making it easy. She had her coffee poured into a to-go cup, not giving Jack much of a chance to do anything except take her money. Plainly, he needed help in the wooing department.

"Your new book's coming out in a few weeks, isn't it?" Neal asked Mozzie.

"Yes, the advance reviews for _Branes Among Us_ have already hit the newsstands. My publisher wants to host a book-signing event, but I haven't decided if it's worth the trouble."

"How about holding a book-signing at the coffeehouse?" Neal suggested. "Jack would want to consult with the police to provide security for the expected crowds. I'm sure he'll require extensive conversations with your greatest supporter in the police department."

Peter grinned. "Am I witnessing the birth of a matchmaker? Wait till I tell El."

By the time Neal left with Peter to load the paintings into Peter's Torino, Mozzie was already discussing the future event with Jack.

"Would you like to come over tonight for dinner?" asked Peter, opening the trunk. "We could hang the paintings and enroll you into El's matchmakers anonymous group."

"Thanks, but I have other plans." Neal placed the paintings inside. Peter was probably thinking he'd be spending the night in the vault. Before he could start his lecture, Neal added nonchalantly. "Friday night date night, you know."

Peter's eyes widened, a grin spreading over his face.

"It doesn't really count," Neal admitted. "It's with Sara."

"It's close enough. Dinner beforehand?"

"Alehouse afterwards."

"Attaboy!"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal met Sara in front of the Majestic Theater on Friday evening only to discover they'd have to stand in line to exchange her passes for tickets. The theater was close to campus and college students made up the majority of the block-long line.

"Is the wait always this bad on Friday evenings?" he asked her.

Sara laughed. "You've been out of circulation so long you've forgotten. Didn't you and Kate go to movies?"

"Sure, but we usually went to the Bijou. Kate liked art films. The lines there are never long."

"That sounds like her. She probably loved Swedish movies, all mumbly and dark. Do you speak Swedish by the way?" When he shrugged acknowledgment, she grinned. "I can just picture you two, murmuring Swedish to each other over candles made out of old wine bottles."

"That was us. Our Chianti bottle candle collection could have filled the table. Kate made the spaghetti, and I brought the wine."

"Of course, you did. You two were the original Lady and the Tramp. I should have selected a Disney film. _The Apple Dumpling Gang_ is playing down the street if you'd rather—"

"Nothing doing," Neal said firmly. "After waiting this long, I'm not leaving now. What's _The Andromeda Strain_ about?"

She slipped an arm around him. "Some of the girls in your Anglo-Saxon class are standing behind us," she murmured in his ear. "I recognized them from that time I waited to see you outside your office. Why is it that women are always standing in line for you?"

He snorted. "I don't have that effect at all."

"Uh-huh, denial will get you nowhere. _The Andromeda Strain_ is about a deadly microorganism from outer space that infects a town's inhabitants, causing them all to die. I wouldn't wish that on Arkham, but I'd love to be the reporter covering the story."

What would Sara say if Neal told her about the algolnium within him and Peter? Could it also be a mutant element from outer space? Neal tried to put it out of his mind, but suddenly _The Apple Dumpling Gang_ didn't sound so bad.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked. "You look a little queasy. If you don't like science fiction, you should have told me. I would have thought after everything you've experienced, this would be pretty tame stuff. But hey, I'm flexible. We could see _At Long Last Love_. That would be much more appropriate for date night, but I figured—"

"You guessed right," Neal said, breaking into a laugh. "I must say you're taking all the disclosures you heard quite calmly."

"That we're being invaded by aliens from other worlds? What's so crazy about that? We see the stars in the sky. Some of them must have planets. It only makes sense that at least a few of those planets are inhabited. And that some of them would possess technologies superior to ours is a given." She paused for a moment before adding, "I would have liked them to be friendlier aliens. Perhaps we'll have better luck next time."

Sara's choice of movie turned out to be an excellent one. Compared to what that town endured, Neal's encounters with ghasts seemed pretty tame. At the conclusion, Neal waited for Sara in the lobby while she freshened up. The theater was crowded with people arriving for the next showing. Neal retreated into a side corridor to get some breathing space.

"What do you think you're doing?" A rough hand shoved Neal against the wall. He spun around to see Chad in his face, looking furious and ready to punch him.

Neal jerked his hand away. "Back off, man. What's your problem?"

"I saw you with Emma. She's mine, you hear. You keep your mitts off her."

 _Emma? That must be the name Sara used at Sharkey's_. "I didn't see a sign around her neck that she was spoken for."

"Well, she is, and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay clear."

"Hey, what's going on?" Sara had charged up and was spitting fire.

"Apparently Chad thinks you two are an item, _Emma_. You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend."

"That's because I don't have one." She took a breath and lowered her voice. "Chad, this isn't like you."

He stepped back, his voice no longer threatening. "My mistake. I came to the movie with some pals. When I saw you with another guy, I lost it." He pulled her aside and they talked a few minutes. Neal wasn't able to catch the words over the din of the moviegoers. Chad hadn't changed one iota since those years in the foster home. Neal was glad he'd warned her. Sara was flirting with him, stroking his arm. Whatever she said worked, since he was now all smiles. He'd kept himself in good shape. Neal had to admit he looked just like Sara's type.

Neal waited till Chad took off before approaching her. "Do you still want to go to the alehouse?"

"Of course I do," she said as they headed for the exit. "I'm sorry about Chad. Thanks for not blowing my cover. I never want my work to come between us. At the alehouse, I'm picking up the tab. I owe you."

"Nothing doing. I asked _you_ , but you can critique the bartender now that you're such an expert. I assume Emma's your undercover name."

She nodded. "I decided to use the name of my role model."

"You based your character on Jane Austen's _Emma_? That's an odd choice. I can't see her tending bar."

She reached over and mussed his hair. "Not that Emma, dummy. Emma Peel in _The Avengers_. That's me. Sophisticated, beautiful, sexy, expert martial arts fighter—"

"You're right. She is your double. I should acquire an umbrella and bowler. Then I could be your John Steed."

"A bowler? No, I don't think so. But have you ever worn a fedora? I bet you'd look good in one. You might start a new fashion trend." She stopped walking and studied him for a moment, a smile breaking out.

"What? Do I have popcorn stuck to my teeth?"

"No, I was just thinking . . . Are you doing anything for Halloween?"

He shrugged. "Help June pass out treats."

"Why don't you spend Halloween with me? You were out of the country last year, but the previous year you and Kate celebrated with me and Bryan."

"You wore a Barbarella costume as I recall."

She grinned mischievously. "I must have made an impression on you."

"Maybe, but then I also remember Bryan's. What does that say about me?"

"I don't want to think about that. You have to admit he made an adorable caveman."

"If there was ever someone destined to play the part of a Neanderthal, it was Bryan."

"Now you're being mean. I thought it was Kate who gave him the horrible nickname of Sighin' Bryan, but was I wrong?"

Neal shook his head. "Kate had him pegged right away."

"She was an excellent judge of character. Look who she picked."

He didn't say anything. He'd talked more about Kate with Sara that evening than with anyone else over the past year. The hurt was not as overwhelming as he'd thought. Should he feel guilty about that?

"You two were the perfect couple in your Elizabeth Bennet and Darcy costumes," she said quietly, "but it's time to retire that look."

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Any suggestions? Preferably something in this century."

"I know just the outfit. You were destined to wear it."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Perhaps it was a leftover effect from his relaxing Friday night, but Neal's time in the vault went exceptionally well the next day. Peter may have been right when he argued for taking the occasional break. Finally, the translation to the appendices was in his grasp.

Next Friday would be Halloween and Arkham was already decorating for the occasion. Carved jack-o'-lanterns had been placed outside houses and shop doors. On campus the trees were hung with shrouds of spider webs. Ghosts made out of white sheets hung from the boughs. Classic scary movies were playing at the college theater every night.

Trinity Avenue was crowded on a Saturday evening. Movie-goers, diners going to restaurants, students on dates. As Neal walked, his thoughts returned to the starfish script. He'd had a breakthrough with the appendices. Would the starfish script be next to reveal its secrets? Perhaps then he'd be ready for the crystal manuscript.

Someone kicked his knee from behind, causing him to stagger. He turned around, only to have his arm yanked.

"Time to finish this." Chad's face was flushed with anger. Before Neal could pull free, Chad twisted his arm behind his back and dragged him into an alley behind a dumpster.

"You're drunk. Go home. I've no quarrel with you."

The beer on Chad's breath was making Neal nauseated. It brought back memories of too many nights where Chad had been out drinking with their foster dad. Neal had learned to avoid those confrontations. He hadn't expected he'd ever have to relive one. Chad was only a few inches taller than him, but he was much heavier, and where Neal fought with words, he fought with his fists.

Neal risked a quick glance around. He was still several blocks from his house. No one else was in the dark alley. Chad was plainly spoiling for a fight.

Chad wrenched his arm harder, making him cry out. He shoved Neal against a brick wall and whipped out a switchblade. "Shut your trap, or I'll do it for you." Chad had never used a knife on him. There was a new ferocity in his expression which scared Neal. Was he high on drugs or was it something else?

"Just so you understand, Emma's mine. You see her again, you're dead meat."

Chad released his grip and sauntered away, leaving Neal gasping. His wrist felt like it was broken, but he could move his fingers so it was probably just a sprain.

When Neal got home, he called Sara to warn her. Chad was far too dangerous for her to flirt with him.

* * *

 _Notes: Chad makes his move in next week's chapter, and the Algolnium Web comes up with some provocative theories about Neal's abilities. Could his paintings be inspiring the group?_

 _Sara wishes the aliens Neal described were friendlier. All he knows about are ghasts, nightgaunts, and zoogs. Nothing very lovable there. Chittaks, though? Yes, I think Sara would like chittaks. In many respects chittaks and zoogs are opposites. Zoogs are a Lovecraft creation. Although not as nasty as some of his other creatures, they don't make good pets. In these stories they've formed an alliance with Azathoth. Chittaks are original to Arkham Files and add a note of whimsy and optimism to what can be a scary world. I hope you enjoyed your introduction to them. I wrote about chittaks and zoogs for this week's blog post._

 _Neal and Kate dressing as William Darcy and Lizzie Bennet for Halloween is a nod to Penna's use of Pride and Prejudice in By the Book. She'd written about the inspiration in her blog posts: Caffrey Conversation meets Jane Austen and By the Book: Panic Phrase. In that story Neal was asked to go undercover with the alias of William Darcy. Mozzie made dark warnings about the Jane Austen curse. Could that be why Neal was captured by vampires in Whispers in the Night and why he and Peter have had to confront the supernatural creatures in the Crossed Lines series? Curses can be very powerful. Mozzie lectured Diana on her use of Darcy in this chapter. Her feelings on the subject are expressed in her comment._

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals and Music: The Arkham Files board at the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	4. Missing

**Chapter 4: Missing**

 **Peter and El's townhouse. Sunday, October 26, 1975.**

Neal was determined to erase any thoughts of his Saturday evening confrontation with Chad. He'd warned Sara. There wasn't much else he could do. His sore wrist was a reminder he hadn't acquitted himself very well. Why hadn't he taken self-defense classes like Sara? Being injured by a ghast was acceptable, but by Chad? That was just pathetic.

They had a much more important topic to discuss at the Sunday afternoon meeting at Peter's house, and that was the significance of the writing on the armillary sphere. Mozzie had brought the instrument with him. He placed it on the dining room table at the start of the meeting. Neal had prepared a copy of the script, a rough approximation of the original's intricate strokes. Peter's attempts to see the writing were still going nowhere. It wasn't for lack of trying. He moved the sphere in front of him and stared at it off and on throughout the discussion. It was discouraging to Neal as well. The discovery of an apparent extra ability was disquieting and he was hard pressed to figure out why.

Was there something intrinsically different in the algolnium Neal had or was it simply caused by Peter having less algolnium? If the latter was true, Peter would be able to see the script eventually. El had said the algolnium level in both their systems was growing at the same rate.

"Have you had your eyes tested?" Cyrus asked, offering Neal the cheese board.

"No need. I can see fine." Neal eyed the heavy board and declined it with a wave of his right hand. He should have taken additional aspirin before he left. His left wrist was beginning to throb. To avoid any clumsy maneuvers, he'd resigned himself to abstaining from most of the food.

"You don't necessarily need to consult an ophthalmologist," El countered. "It could be that you're able to perceive a wider percentage of the electromagnetic spectrum than is normally possible."

"I could test you in my lab," Cyrus offered. When he sweetened the deal, insisting that his spectral equipment would make it a simple procedure which would only require a few minutes, Neal reluctantly agreed.

"I'd like to know too," Peter commented. "Symptoms you experience may affect me later on."

"Neal had remarked that colors seem more vibrant," Mozzie said. "That could be the reason. And that's not the only enhanced ability he's demonstrating. His translation skills have improved dramatically. Neal told me on the way over that he had a breakthrough with the appendices."

"Yesterday I realized that certain strokes were being used to indicate meaning, not sound," Neal explained. "They act like the meaning components in Chinese characters or Egyptian hieroglyphs. It was a eureka moment." He turned to Mozzie. "It reminded me of how you'd described your inspiration for M-Theory. I was staring at the same passage I'd studied for over a month, and all of a sudden it made sense."

"I've seen the appendices," Peter said, gazing at him with astonishment. "With Chinese or Egyptian, the shape of the character gives you a clue to its meaning. To take an obvious example, in Chinese the character for _bird_ can be added to other characters to indicate that the new word also has a connection to birds. In the case of the appendices, the glyphs are abstract curves and squiggles. How did you figure out what they represent?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just looked at the text and understood it. It's like when you read a passage in English. You don't need to stop and analyze the letters. You already know what they mean and how they're pronounced. I still have several glyphs to decipher, but I'm positive I'm on the right track."

"I wonder . . ." Mozzie's words trailed off as he held up a slice of French bread slathered with Brie and waved it slowly in the air.

After a couple of moments when he didn't appear inclined to enlighten the others, Cyrus pressed him for an explanation.

"Is the presence of algolnium helping Neal translate the appendices?"

"A provocative hypothesis," Cyrus agreed, "but how would we test for it?"

Mozzie turned to El. "Is it possible to replace his cerebrospinal fluid with ordinary fluid for say a period of two weeks and monitor any differences? You could then replace my fluid with Neal's. Perhaps I'll be able to translate unknown languages, grow hair, or be able to paint."

Neal eyed Mozzie aghast, rendered speechless. Luckily El wasn't. "No, it's not," she said firmly. "It would kill you both. Even if it didn't, you wouldn't be able to prove anything. Our spinal fluid is absorbed constantly by our brains. I know of no way of safely extracting the algolnium from either him or Peter. In any case, I have evidence that algolnium is not the cause of Neal's ability to translate the script." She turned to Neal. "Thaddeus was unable to translate the appendices, correct?"

"That's right."

"And he spent a far longer time over them than you have?"

Neal agreed, puzzled at where she was heading.

She nodded as if he'd confirmed her hypothesis. "Samples had been kept from Thaddeus's autopsy because of the mysterious nature of his disease. On a hunch, I decided to test his spinal fluid yesterday." She paused to scan the group. "Thaddeus contained a significant percentage of algolnium in his spinal fluid—only a small fraction of Neal's but twenty times the amount Peter has."

Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment before erupting into questions, none more than Neal. Could Thaddeus be related to him or was some other factor at play? Cyrus's favorite theory was there was something in Arkham's environment that was causing the anomaly. El had already tested the water supply and had found no algolnium contamination. The vault was considered with perhaps a link to vault madness, but since Neal had displayed a sensitivity to algolnium before gaining access, that too was ruled out.

Neal had difficulty accepting that Thaddeus knew of any genetic relationship. He'd never displayed any interest in discussing Neal's family. On the other hand, Thaddeus had left him an inheritance, and there was the photo to consider.

No conclusions had been reached by the time the meeting broke up. Cyrus and Mozzie left to attend a symposium at the university. Neal was eager to resume his work on the appendices but offered to help clean up first.

"What would you like me to do?" he asked El.

She eyed him for a moment. "You could explain why you're favoring your left hand."

"Is that why you weren't eating?" Peter asked, coming out of the kitchen. "You could have let us know. I was about to attribute it to another side effect from algolnium. Cyrus's ham loaf was perfection." He joined El in demanding answers.

Reluctantly, Neal shoved back the sleeve of his turtleneck sweater to reveal his wrist. The swelling looked worse than he remembered. He hoped the bruises didn't appear as colorful to them as they did to him.

El ordered him to take a seat. While she examined the wrist, Peter grilled him on his confrontation with Chad.

"I don't think you'll need to have it x-rayed," she commented, probing the injured area. "Your wrist doesn't appear to be broken."

"I told you it was nothing." Neal winced when she touched a painful spot.

She shook her head disapprovingly. "You didn't let me finish. A bad sprain like this should be wrapped. I'll get supplies. When I return I expect an explanation of why you didn't mention it earlier."

"That makes two of us," Peter added.

"Truthfully, it wasn't my finest moment. I should have been able to handle him better."

While El wrapped his arm, Neal related his earlier encounter at the movie theater. "I called Sara yesterday evening to warn her that Chad has a short fuse. I'd hoped the experience would convince her to stay away from him."

"Did it?" El asked, securing the wrap.

"No," he admitted. "She asked if I knew of any women he's hurt, and I don't. I have to hope I'm the only one he likes bullying."

"When you get home, remember to use ice packs and keep it elevated," El said. "Algolnium is not enabling you to heal any faster than anyone else would."

"This is a good reminder for all of us," Peter said. "We've been so focused on ghasts and zoogs that we've been overlooking that the most immediate threat can come from humans like Chad and those cult members we encountered in the abandoned house. You should report Chad's actions to Diana. For all we know, he could be one of the ringleaders of the cult. Clearly, he's someone to keep an eye on."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Could he call it the sprained wrist effect, proving that something good came out of anything? For whatever reason, on Monday Neal was able to call Diana with not only the news about Chad but even more importantly he'd been able to read extensive passages from the appendices. She was nearly as excited as him on the phone and insisted on a full report to the group the next day.

And so it was that at seven o'clock on the following morning, he and Peter were once more in the police interrogation room with Diana, Jones, and Sara. The early schedule was unavoidable as both he and Peter had morning classes to teach. Jones supplied everyone with the police station's special blend of swill, but Neal suspected no one would need coffee to stay awake when they heard the news.

"The book's author, Abdul Alhazred, acknowledges his membership in the Starry Wisdom cult and writes about their practices. The language he used for the appendices had been taught to him by an entity who serves Azathoth. He goes by various names, including Nyarlathotep, the High Priest Not To Be Described, and the Priest in the Yellow Silk Mask."

"Is this the man you saw in the monastery?" Sara asked.

"I don't know if he's a man, but the account matches. Alhazred reports having seen him through a glowing red crystal. He describes the mask, the robe adorned with calligraphy, and the ebony flute he played. He also never saw the high priest's face. Local priests mimic his attire."

"Like the priest in the house on Birch Street?" Jones asked.

"That's right. Alhazred also refers to a drink which is a gift from Nyarlathotep. Supposedly the liquid grants special powers but he's not specific about what they are."

"It may have been made from anise," Peter added. "At the time Alhazred wrote the _Necronomicon_ , he lived in Damascus where they made an alcoholic drink called Arak. It would have given the priests quite a buzz."

"Did he mention anything about the starfish?" Diana asked.

Neal nodded, taking a swig of the police brew. "Starfish-shaped stones were used to carry directives from Azathoth to ghasts. The starfish were delivered through the ruby crystal gateway. Ghasts can't survive in our world without human hosts and even then they only live for a couple of days. Once a ghast exits a human, the body dies. The ghasts serve as Azathoth's soldiers. They're incapable of speech and possess limited reasoning skills. He compares them to trained jackals with the strength of camels."

"That fits the pattern of what we've observed," Diana commented, twirling a pen in her fingers. "In both cases where we're certain a ghast was involved, the human it possessed died of a supposed heart attack. The author was able to see ghasts. Who else could?"

"The priests in the church. Alhazred indicates that it's a special mark of Azathoth's favor that he could see them." Neal was glad no one commented on what that signified about his ability. When he'd discussed it with Peter the previous night, Peter's response had been reassuring. He argued that Alhazred could have been unaware of others who could see ghasts and that the cause was not necessarily the same. But Neal kept remembering the words of the priest in the monastery. _You will come again when I call._ That priest was Nyarlathotep, the servant of Azathoth.

Jones roused him from his thoughts when he questioned the description of the gateways. "Did he explain where they led?"

"He calls it the realm of Azathoth. Alhazred confirms what we already suspected—that ruby crystals serve as the portal. He also stated that he'd witnessed nightgaunts delivering crystals to their meeting place."

"So the nightgaunt Neal saw circling the spire of St. Jude's Church could have delivered the ruby crystal and placed it on the altar," Peter added.

"The wormholes created by ruby crystals only last a few hours at most," Neal said, "but there are other more permanent ones."

"Any description of these other wormholes or how we can discover where they are?" Diana demanded.

"Unfortunately not," Neal admitted. "Alhazred claimed he saw one in Damascus, but he gave no further details."

Sara stopped writing notes to ask, "And these starfish . . . did they just drop out of the gateway?"

"No, they were carried. Sometimes a ghast emerged from the gateway, holding one in his claws. Other times, a zoog brought a starfish to the priest in its pouch."

"I knew those zoogs were evil," Diana said with satisfaction, sitting back and surveying the others. "This is the first confirmation we have of a direct link between the zoogs and the cult."

"The question I have is who's inscribing the starfish," Peter said. "Is the high priest—the one Alhazred calls Nyarlathotep—controlling the action or is he simply the mouthpiece? When Neal confronted the priest in the monastery, he claimed he served Azathoth. Were the marks placed by Azathoth himself?"

"Alhazred called ghasts Azathoth's soldiers," Sara said, looking up from her notes. "Zoogs appear to serve as his scouts or messengers. I wonder if Azathoth and Nyarlathotep are representatives of an alien race far superior to ours, such as the Talosians on _Star Trek_."

"I have an easier time accepting that," Jones confided, "than believing Azathoth's a god. And that just goes to show how screwy this situation is. I'm accepting the presence of creatures from other worlds as being the logical alternative." He rubbed his forehead. "Don't let this go beyond this room, but I used to watch _Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea_ when I was in college. I think that show played a part in why I joined the Navy. I used to laugh at all the monsters. Every week, a new creature would pop out of the vents or be discovered at the bottom of the ocean. Now I feel like I'm caught up in the landlubbers' version, but it's no laughing matter."

Jones's admission was welcome news to Neal. It was a validation of the transformation of his own life. Ghasts weren't some LSD-inspired hallucination like Jones first insisted.

Diana gave Jones a sympathetic nod. "Ghasts on the rampage in Arkham sounds more like the description of a horror movie than something we should be investigating, but here we are. We could be facing something like _War of the Worlds_. We have to recognize, though, until we can come up with concrete, non- _poofing_ evidence, we can't call on the military for assistance. Somehow I don't think they'd view what a half-mad scholar wrote in the eighth century as having passed the smell test." She turned to Sara. "Have you heard anything more about the cult?"

"I've been working on Chad. I've convinced him that my ambition is to go to Hollywood and become a movie star. For that I'll need cash, and a lot of it. He told me the church is looking for new recruits and that I'll have plenty of opportunities to make my dream come true. But he's being very coy on providing any specifics. I don't know whether he's playing me or he honestly doesn't know."

"I don't need to remind you to be careful but I will anyway," Diana said bluntly. "I don't take his threat to Neal lightly. Neal could have pressed charges, and normally I would have encouraged him to do so. I advised him to hold off since Chad is your primary contact, but both of you should be on your guard."

Neal was glad to see Sara take Diana's warning so seriously. They now had confirmation that the crime spree, ghasts, nightgaunts, and zoogs were all directly connected to the Starry Wisdom cult. What was lacking were the identities of the priest and his assistant. The police appeared to be counting on Sara, but Neal wished it could be an undercover cop instead.

After the meeting, Neal and Peter exited the police station with Sara. She'd parked her red Beetle on the street next to Peter's Torino.

"How's your wrist?" she asked him

He flexed it for her. "It's not causing any difficulty. I don't think it needs to be wrapped."

"I'll make a deal with you," she countered. "If you exercise restraint, I will too. You remove that wrap and all promises are off the table."

"Bossy much?"

"Better get used to it." She retrieved her car key from her purse and opened the door. "I'm not simply your fake girlfriend. I'm also Sherlock now. That means I call the shots. I should make new business cards to advertise my latest specialty of tracking down extraterrestrials. It's a good thing _Star Trek_ is still being shown in reruns. I feel it's essential research for this exposé." She turned to Peter. "Does El like science fiction? We could go on a movie double date."

"Great idea!" Peter seconded. " _The Andromeda Strain_ is playing at the Majestic."

"That's the movie Neal and I saw last week. How about _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_?"

"Your paper panned it," Neal pointed out.

"True, but I've also heard enthusiastic comments." She slid into the car seat and rolled down the window. "Besides, what's not to like? A young engaged couple—that's perfect for our fake status. Monsters, horror, sci-fi—"

"Exactly, it's too close to reality," Neal said adamantly.

She broke into a grin. "Really? I didn't know you were that close to proposing. That settles it. We're going. I'll call El and arrange a night." She blew him a kiss as she drove away.

Neal glanced at Peter and laughed it off. "I've given up trying to tone her down," he admitted ruefully.

Peter shrugged. "That's the way it always starts. It's just a tease, but she's plotting behind the scenes. We schmucks don't stand a chance."

"Before long we may be going on triple dates. Mozzie asked Lavinia out."

Peter's eyebrows ascended to his hairline. "What did she say?"

"Turned him down flat, but that's only served to increase his enthusiasm. Yesterday I caught him composing sonnets for her."

"Do you think he's interested in her romantically or is he simply trying to discover more about her?"

"It's hard to say. Mozzie loves a mystery, and she's about as mysterious as it gets."

Peter gave Neal a lift to the campus since they were short on time. When they stopped at a red light, he asked, "You haven't mentioned the tests Cyrus ran on you yesterday. Does that mean he didn't discover anything?"

"Not exactly. I was able to see a wider percentage of the spectrum than what's considered the normal range, both in the ultraviolet and infrared. That's likely why I can see writing on the armillary sphere."

"You don't act very pleased with the results," Peter commented, "and on Sunday you were reluctant to even be tested. Care to explain why?"

When Neal walked home Sunday night, he'd realized why he was uneasy about his new abilities. It wasn't a subject he would have brought up, but Peter deserved an honest answer. "Blame it on _The Andromeda Strain._ I liked the movie and found it reassuring I hadn't caused a plague that wiped out a town ."

"Celebrating your small victories?" he prompted.

"Something like that," he agreed. "But later, I realized it pointed out a darker possibility. The virus in the movie mutated from being lethal to a benign state. What if the opposite is happening to us? We know our algolnium levels are increasing. Are we mutating and if so, what will be the end result?"

"I understand your concern," Peter said thoughtfully. "El and I've spoken about it too. I didn't mention it, because there's not much point, but we can't ignore the possibility."

"Until a natural source for algolnium is found, my best guess is that somehow we were infected with it and likely by an alien species. I have nothing against extraterrestrials. I loved the Mother Thing in _Have Spacesuit—Will Travel_. But in the real world, all we're encountering are beings who are hostile to us. Ghasts want to kill us. Those nightgaunts? Hardly friendly. The high priest on the Plateau of Leng was evil in a way I'd never experienced before. If algolnium is of alien origin, is it evil too? Alhazred was able to see ghasts. Had he received algolnium from the priest or some other servant to Azathoth? Perhaps the element's presence makes us more susceptible to being manipulated by this species." Neal stopped to take a breath. "That's what worries me. Is the algolnium a ticking time bomb like the Andromeda strain?" He glanced at Peter, anxious for his reaction.

"You're concerned that the more effects you experience, the closer that bomb is to detonating?"

"Exactly. And who will it take out with me?" To that, Peter had no answer.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next revelation in the vault came not from Neal but Peter. For the past several days he'd been working on the _Unaussprechlichen Kulte_ of von Junzt. The Black Book some called it. It had been written in the early 1800s by a German scholar. In it he described what others viewed as mythical pre-human races. The vault at the Miskatonic Library was one of the few places that still possessed a copy. Most had been destroyed as being either blasphemous or superstitious nonsense.

In his earlier research on the book, Peter had discovered a reference to shantaks, immense birds who dwelt near the Plateau of Leng. When he and Neal observed them in flight over the monastery, they had the confirmation they needed that shantaks were not merely something von Junzt had invented.

Von Junzt had traveled the globe researching legends. His book had been discounted as the ravings of a lunatic, but if shantaks were real, his other reports could be as well. The scholar had visited some archaeological sites in Mongolia that Peter was familiar with. His descriptions were accurate and precise, lending further credibility to the accuracy of the book.

Peter had spent hours combing through the tales while Neal worked on the appendices. That Tuesday evening he hit pay dirt when he discovered that von Junzt described not only the monastery on the Plateau of Leng but what lay below.

Peter called Neal over to verify he was translating the German text correctly. They spent every precious minute up to ten o'clock when they were forced to leave the vault. And what they learned was troubling. For the sinister high priest was not alone. A staircase from the monastery led down to a vast city inhabited by his servants, the gugs. A race of giants, they were described as looking like black hairy apes. Each arm had two short forearms which branched off from the elbow and ended in powerful paws with sharp claws. The eyes protruded from the sides of the head by short stalks. But most horrific of all was the mouth which extended vertically from the top of the head to its chin and was filled with sharp fangs.

If von Junzt's report was to be believed, the priest was not the only thing to be feared in the monastery.

 **Offices of _The Arkham Gazette_. Wednesday, October 29, 1975. **

Sara looked up from the microfilm reader and rubbed her eyes. She checked her notes to confirm she'd recorded all the details. Yes, the date of birth matched. His history. That photograph was a stroke of luck. She'd like to secure confirmation before telling Neal, but she had a good feeling about it. Score one for Sara Pabodie aka Sherlock Holmes, ace investigative journalist _and_ private detective.

She glanced at her watch. Neal was probably still standing at the podium, delivering his lecture. She needed to sit in on that lecture sometime and pepper him with annoying questions. She'd be doing him a favor. Handling obnoxious students was an essential skill for any successful professor to master, and she was just the one to provide the training.

She still had a few minutes left before she needed to leave for her shift—enough time to call Harry at the _Boston Globe_. He owed her a favor. Hadn't she secured that interview for him? Not to mention fixing him up with Marlene in bookkeeping. For that, she deserved a year's worth of thanks. Harry was a fiend at research and would excel at the assignment. Sara had identified the man in the photo as Andrew Phelan, but the trail went cold when he left Arkham.

When her call was completed, it was time to prepare for her role of Emma Scanton, sexy bartender.

Her boss Larry Putnam beckoned her to his office on her way out. Sara braced herself for another lecture.

"You're being careful, right?" he said when she entered.

"Of course, chief."

He eyed her skeptically. "I remember when I was your age and everyone told me use caution. As I recall I wore the same dismissive look you're giving me." He waggled a finger at her. "Just remember don't try to pull a fast one on me. I know you're eager to get your first scoop. It will come in due course and I'd rather have you alive to enjoy it."

Larry went on to relate the conversation he'd had with Diana. Sara was surprised that Diana contacted him. And not only that, she'd praised Sara's discretion and integrity. It was clear that Larry was excited to know more about the cult, but he was content to wait until Sara had been given clearance.

Sara gave Diana points for making the call. Not only did she reduce any pressure Sara might have felt to divulge advance details, but by making Larry aware of it, she'd also put him on notice to keep their side of the bargain.

Not that Diana needed to worry. Larry was one of the most ethical people Sara had met, in or out of the business. He was also a dear. Larry acted as a father figure to the entire newsroom, even to those who were older than him. Sara liked his mustache. He reminded her of an overworked sheriff in a frontier town. He had a good heart like Marshall Dillon on _Gunsmoke_ , and her current role was to play Miss Kitty.

"I'll be fine, sir, and I'll bring you back that exposé." Diana had agreed to let her publish an account of the cult minus any alien or supernatural elements once the takedown occurred. That in itself would be a major coup. She could afford to be patient on the rest of the story, knowing that eventually it would be hers to report.

Sara's apartment was on Larchmont Street, not far from the university. Originally a house, the yellow clapboard structure had been subdivided into apartments several years ago. Sara had one of the upstairs units.

She parked her car at the curb and dashed inside to change into her bartender attire—a tight sweater, miniskirt, and chunky heels. Larry's lecture meant she was running late. She already had the key to her apartment in her hand as she jogged up the stairs. She didn't stop to think until much later that the front door of the house was already unlocked.

The thugs were on her as soon as she entered the apartment. She hurled her bag at one of them and spun around for the door, but she wasn't fast enough. One of them yanked her jacket from behind.

Screaming at the top of her lungs, Sara ripped one of the black hoods they wore with her fingernails as she lashed out at the groin of another. A sharp blow to her head made her see stars.

When a blow landed on her jaw, she reeled back . . .

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal received a call from Diana as he was preparing to leave his office for the day. Her statement was terse. When Jones arrived at Sharkey's that afternoon, Sara hadn't shown up for work. Jones checked with her office at the newspaper and they reported she'd left work around one o'clock.

Sara was missing.

Neal's brain froze for a moment as Diana described what actions they were taking. She recommended he lodge a formal complaint about Chad. No one knew if he was involved, but they wanted to bring him in for questioning. Neal's complaint would provide additional justification.

Neal stopped off at Peter's office on his way downstairs. He wasn't there but Neal left a note of explanation then headed for the police station.

Diana was in a meeting when he arrived. He looked for Jones but was told he was out researching leads. The sympathetic desk sergeant let Neal wait by Diana' desk.

While he sat, Neal reviewed the possible scenarios. Sara had disappeared early in the afternoon. That most likely eliminated ghasts as they'd never been known to prowl at that hour. Neal figured Chad had to be involved. Had he seen Sara leave with them from the police station? Did he know her true identity?

Should Neal be more concerned about the priest of the cult? He and Peter had witnessed a cult ceremony where initiates had been required to place a hand inside a box till their fingers bled. Neal remembered vividly the look of horror on their faces during the ordeal. Was that what Sara was experiencing now? Chad was a member of the cult. He must have gone through the initiation. What sort of rite was it? The appendices hadn't mentioned it.

"Neal, get over here." He looked up to see Diana standing at the door to Captain Hughes's office. Neal had seen her boss in passing but never met him. Diana had mentioned several times how stern he was, but that didn't matter now.

Both Hughes and Diana listened to his statement. The captain demanded specifics of the earlier incidents at the foster home and Neal provided them. It was the first time he'd ever gone into detail about how his injuries had been caused. When he'd required treatment at the hospital, they'd all been listed as accidental.

After he finished his statement, Diana escorted him out and made him promise to let the police handle the investigation. She would have sent him home in a patrol car, but Neal refused. They needed all their detectives to search for Sara.

"You should let me go with you," he urged as forcefully as he could. "You can't spot ghasts. Only I can. Does Hughes even know about them?"

"He does, although I don't think he believes they exist. He suspects ghasts are simply criminals disguised as monsters, and we were carried away by our imaginations. As a civilian, you can't ride along in a patrol car. Go home." She gave him a gentle shove. "I'll call you as soon as I have any news."

Neal followed her advice but she didn't order him to stay at home. As soon as he'd changed clothes, he headed back outside. The police couldn't hunt for ghasts, but he could.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After several fruitless hours, Neal returned home. He'd found no ghasts, nightgaunts, zoogs, or anything that might lead him to the cult. He let himself into the dark house. June had gone to bed hours earlier. She'd left a note in the front entry that there'd been no message from Diana but Peter had called several times during the evening. Neal thought briefly about returning his call, but it was far too late. He and El would both be asleep.

He trudged up the stairs to the loft. Sleep was a lost cause. He'd make a sandwich then hit the streets again.

Why wasn't he having a vision? His amulet wasn't glowing. Could Lavinia help? Neal put two slices of bread in the toaster while he considered what to tell her. How early in the morning could he pound on her door?

When the phone rang, for a second he had a wild thought it was Lavinia. But no, it was probably Diana, letting him know they'd found her. He raced to the phone.

"Finally!" El's voice was almost a sob. "Where have you been?" She didn't pause to let him explain. "We were on the point of calling the police to report you were missing as well."

Her words sent him into a tailspin. He hadn't considered for a moment that they'd draw that conclusion.

Peter got on the other phone, while she was talking. When he heard what Neal had been doing, he joined El in hammering him. "Why didn't you let me know? I would have patrolled with you, or better yet, talked you out of such a reckless course."

"I couldn't let you be exposed to the risk too," Neal objected. "If I'd found anything I would have alerted the police and you, too. There was no need to drag you onto the streets."

They made him promise not to go out again that night, but their recommendation to get some sleep was harder to follow. When sleep finally came, it was of short duration. Neal kept waking up, hoping for a vision. Now when he needed one most, why was he being cut off?

The next day he had a full schedule of classes with no time to patrol. When he wasn't in class, he was on the phone to Diana. He'd gone to see Lavinia on his way to work, but she denied any knowledge of Sara's whereabouts and was angry that he thought she might know something.

It had been over twenty-four hours and Sara was still missing. Chad had disappeared as well. He lived in an apartment near the wharf, but hadn't shown up that night. He also failed to appear at work the next day. Jones and Diana had interviewed the regulars at Sharkey's and no one had any news. Everyone was convinced the cult was behind it, but the only lead they had was now also missing. The manhunt was going nowhere.

At the end of a long day, Peter stopped by his office. "Any news?"

"No. Jones called me a few minutes ago. He'd spoken with Chad's co-workers, but none of them was familiar with the cult."

Peter insisted he join them for dinner. Neal knew the invitation was to prevent him from patrolling, but that was the only way he could think of to find her. As soon as dinner was over, he intended to hit the streets again. It was Friday. No classes the next day. He could stay out the entire night if he had to.

Dusk was falling as he and Peter walked through the quad. Neal tuned out Peter's account of a dig in Norway and kept a careful eye on the sky for nightgaunts. When they walked through the university's wrought-iron gates and onto Trinity Avenue, his vigilance finally paid off.

"There! Flying toward the east." Neal pointed out the nightgaunt to Peter. "Do you see it?"

Peter stared, his brow furrowing with concentration. "Yes! It looks like a wispy shadow, but that shape is unmistakable."

Elated that Peter could see it as well, Neal broke into a run. "We have to follow it."

Peter matched his pace. "Diana must be told."

"Go ahead, if you want," Neal shouted, not breaking his stride. "But if I lose sight of it, I may not find it again. We need to find out where it's going, then we call. What could we tell her anyway?" He glanced over at Peter to see his reaction. Although Neal was running flat out, Peter was able to keep up.

They raced by the pedestrians on the streets, their overcoats flapping behind them in the wind. The nightgaunt flew to the eastern fringe of the historic district— a section of old warehouses and tenements, close to the wharf district.

The nightgaunt was now hovering in the sky, its dragon-like shape silhouetted against a full moon. It gave a new ominous meaning to Halloween. Neal had never been scared by spooks of the night. He'd read the old legends of All Hallows' Eve—the pagan rituals, the souls of the dead rising up. Scary tales had never bothered him.

But the nightgaunt in the sky—this was real. Did it carry a ruby crystal? Was the high priest preparing to send a ghast through a wormhole? Neal felt a throbbing pain over his heart where the priest had burned him in the monastery of Leng.

Their steps slowed as they neared their target. Both he and Peter were breathing hard from the exertion. When Neal saw their destination, he couldn't believe it. Swan Hill Cemetery on the night before Halloween? The nightgaunt must have a sense of humor.

Swan Hill was the oldest cemetery in town. Some of the gravestones dated back to the 1700s. The thickly wooded site was a jumble of tombstones and small mausoleums. The historic committee had considered trying to spruce it up but abandoned the project because they would have been forced to relocate tombs and markers.

The nightgaunt had perched on top of a mausoleum built into the hillside. It was one of the largest ones in the cemetery with a gabled roof and columns on either side of the dark oak doors. The nightgaunt, all ten feet of it, not including its long barbed tail, clung to the top of the gable like an overgrown gargoyle. "It's holding a crystal!" Neal whispered excitedly, grasping Peter by the arm. The jewel was shining through the claws of its right foreleg.

"I can see it! It doesn't seem aware of our presence."

"Apparently not." They were standing behind a large spruce to observe its movements. After a few minutes, the nightgaunt appeared to slowly sink through the roof of the mausoleum.

"It simply melted into the building," Peter murmured. "We should call Diana. What I would give for a _Star Trek_ communicator right now."

"We passed a phone booth about a block away. You go on. I'll keep watch."

"I'm not leaving you alone in the cemetery with it," Peter objected.

"Then forget calling Diana, because I'm not leaving," Neal insisted. "We could sneak into the mausoleum and see what it's up to," he suggested hopefully.

Peter shook his head adamantly. "Nothing doing. Besides, the mausoleum is most likely locked. We can't break into private property. If the nightgaunt doesn't come out in ten minutes, we'll have to leave and call the police."

Neal's protests fell on deaf ears. Luckily, the decision was taken out of their hands. Within five minutes, the nightgaunt oozed back out. It gave a few tentative flaps of its wings then flew heavenward. Its wings sculled slowly till it was lost to view. Neither one of them spotted a ruby crystal, raising the likelihood it had been left inside.

Neal started toward the mausoleum, but Peter reined him back. When Neal turned to protest, Peter held a finger to his lips.

"I heard footsteps," he whispered. He pointed to a clump of hemlocks. "A man's heading this way."

They flattened themselves behind the spruce and watched the figure draw closer. He wore a pea jacket and jeans and was making a beeline for the mausoleum. Sharp angular face, middle-aged, his hair on the long side—Neal didn't recognize him. The man walked up to the doors of the mausoleum, inserted a key into the lock, and slipped inside.

"Now we alert Diana," Peter said.

"We don't know how long he'll stay," Neal protested. "What happens if he leaves while we're gone? We won't be able to follow him."

While they debated, the man reemerged. He was now carrying a large canvas bag. Mozzie's lessons on how to follow someone would come in handy. The last time they'd tailed anyone, it was a ghast Neal had seen on the street. Had a ghast now possessed the stranger?

Peter had the same thought as he eyed him questioningly. Neal shook his head. Peter pointed to Neal's chest, and Neal pulled out the amulet. It had glowed after he'd fought with a ghast at the Nautical Shop—the only time he'd known it to do so. They didn't know if the effect was because Neal had come into contact with the ghast or if the amulet was able to sense its presence. Whichever it was, they couldn't rely on it now. The pendant looked perfectly ordinary.

The man strode toward the front gate of the cemetery. As he passed, Neal felt the telltale disorientation that could only mean one thing. "He's got algolnium on him," he whispered to Peter. "I'd bet a month's salary there's a soapstone starfish in that bag."

They left their hiding place behind the tree and started following him. It was soon clear where the stranger was leading them—the Arkham Sanitarium.

The facility had been boarded up for decades while officials debated what to do with it. Once it must have been considered an architectural triumph with its imposing tower and stately gabled wings. Built in the last century, the Gothic edifice was not originally intended to fill a person with dread.

But it did now.

The upper windows looked like blank sockets in a row of skulls. Sections of the walls were crumbling ruins. The sanitarium had born witness to inhumane practices when the mentally ill were subjected to cruel experiments. Neal wished he hadn't read the accounts or seen the images. It didn't take much imagination to hear the cries of the damned.

The stranger furtively approached the wrought iron gate then unlocked the padlock. Leaving the gate ajar, he walked across what had been a broad lawn but was now a field overgrown with weeds. He entered a door into a side wing of the building. It must have been unlocked as he didn't appear to use a key.

The street leading up to the sanitarium was lined with old warehouses. Neal and Peter ducked into the recessed doorway of one to confer.

"You stay here," Peter ordered. "We passed a phone booth on the corner. I'm going to call Diana. Don't attempt to enter by yourself."

Peter didn't need to worry. Had the sanitarium become a refuge for ghasts and zoogs? Or was it now the lair of something even more fearsome? Having Arkham's finest along for protection sounded like an excellent idea.

* * *

 _Notes: I hope you'll join me next week for Chapter 5: The Gatekeeper when Neal and Peter venture inside the sanitarium. Afterward, even stranger places await them._

 _This wasn't the first time Neal suffered a sprained wrist. In Penna Nomen's story Choirboy Caffrey, an overly zealous FBI agent sprained Neal's wrist on his first day of work. The Arkham Round Table suspects Azathoth is aware of that incident because the informant working at the FBI may have access to Neal's file. Could Neal's injury contain a subliminal message to Azathoth? Is the Round Table portraying Chad as a darker version of the FBI? I'll have more about the subliminal messages contained in The Crypt in next week's blog post. The subliminal message to me is that Neal's wrist injury shows how lucky I am to have the rich resources of Penna's Caffrey Conversation stories to draw upon._

 _The Arkham Sanitarium is modeled on the Danvers State Hospital in Danvers, MA. I added a pin of that institution to the Arkham Files Locations Pinterest board. Lovecraft is believed to have used Danvers as the inspiration for the Arkham Sanitarium. Later, the Batman franchise adopted his creation and housed many of its famous criminals in the Arkham Asylum. There are also pins for the cemetery and the mausoleum._

 _Next Sunday is Father's Day, a day of special significance for Neal and Peter in view of their close relationship. Peter's dad side is much in evidence in this story but in the Arkham timeline it's nearing Halloween. If you'd like to spend Father's Day with Caffrey Conversation, we've featured the holiday in two stories. Neal celebrated the occasion in 2004 in Penna's Caffrey Disclosure (Chapter 2). In 2005 he spent Father's Day with Peter and El in my story Fireflies at Midnight (Chapters 1-2). We have a reference guide to all the holidays in Caffrey Conversation on our blog ("Holidays with the Caffrey Conversation Crew"). I'm also using the blog to build up reference materials for Arkham Files. On the Arkham Files page there are story summaries and a link to the Arkham Files Bestiary. This week I added a guide to the alien worlds and races. I plan to update the pages as the stories progress. Chittaks have been added to the Bestiary. Are there other creatures to be included from The Crypt? Something might pop up next week._

 _Thanks for reading and to Penna for her beta magic on this chapter!_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals and Music: The Arkham Files board at the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	5. The Gatekeeper

**Chapter 5: The Gatekeeper**

 **Arkham Sanitarium, Thursday, October 30, 1975**

Neal remained hidden in the recessed entrance of an old warehouse while waiting for Peter's return. They'd tailed a stranger from the cemetery to the Arkham Sanitarium. They knew nothing about him except that he'd entered a mausoleum shortly after a nightgaunt had flown off and that he carried algolnium, probably in the form of a carved starfish.

Neal was positive the man wasn't a ghast, but one could be inside the sanitarium waiting to receive the object. According to the appendices, the script contained instructions for ghasts. Did the man carry orders to kill Sara?

Previous starfish instructions must have been to steal the armillary sphere and a book about it in the rare bookstore as well as commit assorted murders. Somehow Azathoth and his priest were being informed about Arkham. Was Chad the spy? Perhaps he was the priest of the Arkham branch of the sect.

Peter had left to call Diana, leaving Neal's imagination plenty of time to paint scenarios. Reality wasn't providing any helpful clues. No one else entered the building and no lights were visible. No nightgaunts circled the tower.

It wasn't long before Peter returned. "Diana's on her way," he whispered. "I also called El. Under the circumstances, she was remarkably restrained. I think she wished she were with us."

While they waited in the darkness, cars and pickups began to roll up and park along the side streets. They counted eleven men walk into the asylum. Most wore stocking caps and heavy jackets. They had the leathery complexions of outdoor laborers or fishermen. Neal kept a close watch for Chad but didn't see him.

Neal had craned his neck to peer around the doorway when he saw two figures walking down the street toward them. He squashed himself flat against the doorway and nudged Peter to do the same.

False alarm. It was Diana and Jones. Neal took a deep breath. Peter smiled in relief as well. The cavalry had arrived.

"We parked the van a block away to avoid scaring anyone off," Diana whispered. She didn't appear at all concerned about having spooked them.

Peter quickly filled her in on what they'd observed. She had a two-way radio and relayed the information to the others. There were multiple units on their way. The police would wait for backup personnel before entering the building. She and Jones joined them in monitoring the facility from their warehouse cubbyhole. A couple more stragglers showed up and went inside.

"They look like they're from the docks," Neal whispered to Diana. "They could be holding Sara inside or know something about her."

"I realize that," she retorted sharply then added in a softer tone, "You two need to go back to the van. It's parked at the corner of Freemont and Calhoun. No arguments. We'll let you know what happens."

"You can't see ghasts or nightgaunts," Neal objected. "What if they're inside waiting for you?"

"He's right," Jones agreed, unexpectedly supporting him. "I don't like it any better than you, but we'd be going in blind without Neal. I'm not saying I believe in dragons, but if there's one about to roast me, I'd like a heads up."

"If Neal's going in there, so am I," Peter declared, setting his jaw. "I was able to see the nightgaunt. I may be able to spot ghasts as well."

Diana looked startled at his words. "After this op, you'll have to explain why you two have the gift and apparently no one else does." She frowned at them for a moment. "I concede you'd be useful but I'll have to clear it with Captain Hughes." She glanced at her watch. "The other units should have arrived by now. We'll go back with you."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When they reached the van, Hughes and several officers were standing alongside their parked patrol cars. Jones jumped into the vehicle to get bulletproof vests for them while Diana conferred with the captain. Peter could tell by Hughes's frown that he wasn't happy about her recommendation.

Afterward Hughes approached him and Neal. "I've been informed by Detective Briscoe that you're required on this op, but let's get a few things straight. Under no circumstances are you to stay around if any gunfire erupts. You haul your asses out of there, I don't care how. Fly off on broomsticks if you have to. I don't want my units placing themselves in harm's way to defend unarmed civilians who aren't supposed to be there in the first place. Do I make myself clear?"

Peter felt like he should salute him. He'd asked Diana about Hughes a couple of weeks ago and learned that he'd served under General Patton during World War II. That was probably where he developed his leadership style.

After he left, Diana added her own admonitions. "Despite what the captain may have implied, it's my ass not yours that's on the line. We go in first." She turned to a freckle-faced rookie cop named Riley. He looked to be only a few years older than Neal and appeared equally unsure of the operation. "Riley, you're in charge of them. At the first sign of enemy fire, you make sure that they're in the clear." Peter suspected she was trying to protect Riley along with them.

Peter had never been in the sanitarium, but he'd heard the stories. The inhumane experiments, unnecessary lobotomies, barbaric shock and drug therapies. The Arkham Gazette has published an exposé of the facility a few years ago. It had sparked an outcry to tear the facility down, but the historical association protested it should be spared because of its architectural significance. And so it remained—a stark reminder of those grim times.

Diana chose a different doorway to enter the building than the one used by the suspects. They'd all entered through the east wing. This time an officer broke the lock on a side door into the main building.

They crept through the dusty dark corridors with weapons drawn. The air inside was frigid. Only a few large items of equipment were left. The east wing they were heading for was the site of the infamous Z ward where the most hopeless and incurable cases had been held. _Human cesspool_ was the term many used to describe it.

Peter glanced over at Neal. His eyes were darting in all directions. The muffled steps of the police as they maintained their stealth approach echoed faintly in the corridors. An occasional faint scuttling of tiny paws could be heard. The beams of flashlights caught glimpses of shining eyes.

"Rats," muttered Jones. Some of the sounds seemed to come from within the walls themselves.

"Or zoogs," Neal murmured.

As they entered the east wing they began to hear voices. A bright light was coming out of a doorway. Diana pointed to the room and looked back toward Neal. He crept up to stand beside her and whispered something in her ear. Diana and Jones checked with their fellow officers, using hand signals.

Neal returned to Peter. "No ghasts but I could sense the algolnium. The starfish is in there."

Stealth was abandoned when the police stormed the room. Riley used his arms to block him and Neal from entering. There was nothing they could do except listen to the shouts, curses, and pops of gunfire. When Riley finally allowed Neal and Peter to enter, the suspects had already been surrounded. Neal immediately raced to a woman tied to a chair—Sara.

Diana had removed her gag, and Sara was already describing her ordeal to her, a look of defiance on her face. She had a nasty bruise to her jaw but otherwise appeared uninjured. "Did you catch him?" she demanded.

"Who?" Neal asked, hovering next to her.

"Chad. He was one of the kidnappers. He escaped through a back door when the police moved in."

"We have officers in pursuit," Diana assured her.

"Did they hurt you?" Neal asked.

She shook her head. "They held me captive in what must have been a room for violent patients. Not the most pleasurable experience in my life, but they didn't lay a hand on me." Sara described how she'd been abducted from her apartment. She pointed out a man in a blue flannel shirt and another one in a denim jacket. One of them had long scratches on his face. Sara hadn't given up without a fight.

One of the suspects was a man wearing a black robe and yellow mask. The clothes were identical to the priest they'd seen in the house on Birch Street.

Jones ripped off his mask. "Anyone you know?"

"That's the man we saw enter the mausoleum," Peter confirmed.

"His name is Martin Keller," Jones said. "He's been suspected of numerous burglaries but we didn't know he was involved with the cult."

"They were conducting some sort of ritual, mumbling their worship to Azathoth," Sara said, making a face. "They said I was going to be Azathoth's handmaiden. When you stormed in, the priest was pouring out that horrid drink." She pointed to a glass on a table. "I think they were going to make me drink it."

The cult had prepared a makeshift altar on what must have once been an operating table. An oddly-shaped large gourd was being used as a bottle. Peter approached the table to examine it more closely. The gourd was white with a greenish sheen and had a pearly iridescence. Beside it was a glass of a phosphorescent liquid. Layers of turquoise, pink, and blue shimmered in the glass.

Medics appeared on the scene within minutes. Some of the suspects had carried knives and a couple of the officers had been cut. One man had been shot. Sara protested that she didn't need medical attention, but Diana insisted that she be taken to the hospital to be checked out, and Neal backed her up. As medics helped her onto a gurney, Neal promised to give her a full report at the hospital. He bent low and whispered something to her. By the way her eyes lit up, he must have been telling her about the nightgaunt.

The two cops who'd chased after Chad returned empty-handed. "We lost him in the maze of corridors," one of them reported ruefully to Diana. "He must have escaped through one of the side passageways."

Diana grimaced. "I informed the Captain about the fugitive. He was giving instructions to the backup unit. We'll have to hope they fare better."

Jones and several detectives were already leading some of the suspects out of the building. Neal approached Keller and asked the officer to hold up a minute.

Wild-eyed, Keller sneered at him. "Your time's coming, kid. You belong to Azathoth now." Peter immediately recognized that raspy voice. Keller must have been the priest who'd threatened them in the house on Birch Street.

Neal ignored his threat and continued to study him.

"You sense something, don't you?" Peter asked in an undertone.

He nodded. "Something weird. It's not a ghast. I'd felt the same way when Chad attacked me. It's like there's some other presence."

Suddenly something tiny darted out from Keller's left ear and scurried down his back.

"What was that?" Peter asked, shocked. "It moved so fast, I couldn't make it out."

"There it is!" Neal raced over to the wall, but he was too late. The animal had already fled into a crevice.

The cop who was restraining Keller had turned green and looked like he was going to hurl. Keller had collapsed onto the floor and was screaming in agony, clawing at his ear. Medics raced over to assist. Diana followed on their heels and demanded an explanation.

"An animal—perhaps a rat—crawled out of Keller's ear and fled into the wall," Peter told her.

Her eyes widened in horror. "You can't be serious."

"That was no rat," Neal corrected. "It was a zoog. I got a good look at its face. It was tiny. The body could have only been two inches long."

A zoog living inside Keller's brain? Peter was nauseous at the thought. Yeah, the guy was the priest who'd tried to kill him and Neal, but no one deserved that. He watched as Keller was placed on a gurney. He'd been given a heavy dose of something and appeared unconscious. How had he gotten infected? How long had the zoog been inside him?

Neal nudged him. "I found the starfish. It was on the altar. Like all the others it had some of its arms broken off."

Diana photographed it before wrapping it up. "Based on what you read, Keller would have given it to one of the gang members—"

"—or Sara," Neal pointed out.

She nodded. "Or Sara. Then somehow a ghast would have taken possession of their body. Did the _Necronomicon_ describe how the ritual would be accomplished?"

"No, it only described the outcome."

"That didn't happen this time, thanks to the two of you," she said. "We wouldn't have found their hideout without your help." She gave a half-smile. "We should make you honorary squad members after this."

"We'll be processing the scene for at least another hour," Jones added. "You should head home. We'll catch up with you tomorrow."

"That's sound advice he gave," Diana seconded. "Both of you, get out of here."

"After I call El, we can check on Sara at the hospital," Peter told Neal.

When they left the room, Neal drew him aside. "We should return to the mausoleum. The zoog may have gone there. That's where the nightgaunt was. No one has found the ruby crystal that was in the nightgaunt's claw. It could still be in the mausoleum."

Peter could think of several reasons why that was a bad idea. And El's views on the matter were still ringing in his head.

Diana walked up while they were arguing. "I've learned that whenever you two are scheming, I better know about it. Most likely it's not something I'd approve of and I'll need to rescue you." She paused to study them gloomily a moment. "Let's make this easy on all of us and you tell me up front."

Peter stood back and let Neal explain why he considered it essential to go back to the cemetery. In Peter's earlier phone call to her, he'd only reported that they'd followed the nightgaunt. He hadn't mentioned the crystal it held nor how it oozed inside the mausoleum.

Diana listened in resigned acceptance, making no attempt to question the veracity of Neal's report. At the conclusion, she confined herself to a stern warning. "Don't even think about entering that place alone. Jones and I'll go with you. Give me a few minutes. Others can finish processing the crime scene."

"We'll meet you at the cemetery," Neal offered. "It's only a couple of blocks away."

She looked at him suspiciously. "What's the hurry?"

"A ghast may be around," he pointed out. "I've seen at least two zoogs. They could be using the mausoleum as their den. If we monitor the cemetery, we'll have a better idea what we're up against."

She hesitated then nodded agreement. "All right, Jones and I will be there in about twenty minutes."

Peter didn't raise any objections but once she'd walked off, he asked, "What's the real reason we have to be there first?"

Neal gave a sly smile. "A little prep work is needed."

"What kind of prep and is this something I'll regret?"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"I'm doing this under protest, you know." Peter stood watch in front of the mausoleum door while Neal pulled a tool out of his pocket. "Where did you get that anyway?"

Neal began working at the lock, ignoring his question. "What would Diana do if the entrance were sealed? I'm willing to wager she'd insist on getting a warrant before letting us enter and by then it could be too late. But if the door's already open and ajar, there's no problem."

"When did you learn to use a lock pick?"

"Mozzie taught me," he admitted.

"I should have guessed. I know I've been urging you to not spend so much time in the vault, but this isn't what I had in mind. You realize that Mozzie's instructing you on how to be a criminal, don't you?"

Neal shook his head vigorously. "No, he's not. This is purely for emergency use. We're doing Diana a favor."

"Your logic is so skewed, I don't know where to start." Neal apparently had decided once more to ignore his comments. "You're forcing me into being your lookout man."

"No, I'm not. You don't have to stay." Neal huffed as the lock resisted his efforts.

"Yeah, like I'm going to let you enter a tomb without me? I'm the archaeologist, not you." When Neal continued to be unsuccessful, Peter couldn't stand it any longer. "The lock's probably rusted. You want me to have a go at it?"

"Since when do you know how to use a lock pick? Peter, you've been holding out on me . . . Got it!" Neal broke into an ecstatic grin over his accomplishment.

"A criminal for a colleague, that's what I've got." Despite giving Neal a hard time, Peter was grinning inside too. Breaking into a mausoleum on the night before Halloween? It didn't get cooler than that. He was trying not to think about the ghasts or zoogs that could be lurking inside. "And just in time. I see the police van pulling up in front of the entrance."

Neal opened the door, leaving it about two inches ajar, and they quickly strode back to meet Diana and Jones.

"You hid your lock pick, I hope," Peter said under his breath.

"What do you take me for? An amateur?"

When they reached Diana and Jones, she immediately laid down the law. "You two are to stay behind me and Jones. We shouldn't let you enter at all."

Neal winced. "Didn't we already have this conversation? I thought you wanted to know when a ghast was about to attack."

"Besides, how many tombs have _you_ entered?" Peter added. "This is my bread and butter."

Jones looked around the cemetery uneasily. "First a deserted sanitarium. Now we're creeping into a graveyard. When I joined the police force, this was not the way I pictured my career."

"Shhh!" Diana hissed. "Keep creeping."

Tall spruces framed the entrance to the mausoleum. The name of Danvers, a prominent family in Arkham, was carved into the arch over the entrance. The Gothic Revival architecture placed it in the nineteenth century. Most likely 1880s.

Neal scanned the skies as they approached. "Any sign of nightgaunts?" Peter asked him under his breath.

"Not so far," he muttered. A light wind had come up, making the evergreen boughs rustle.

A small animal scurried through the grass.

"What was that?" Jones said nervously. "A fox? I heard they live in cemeteries."

Neal pointed with a finger to the right side of the mausoleum entrance. "There! A zoog just wiggled inside." He ran up to the side of the mausoleum and knelt down. There was a chink in the masonry large enough for a squirrel to climb in. A small zoog would fit easily.

Peter had barely made out the animal's shape. Not for the first time, he was impressed by the sharpness of Neal's vision. Neal had been able to make out the features of the zoog which darted out from Keller's ear. The animal was just a blur to Peter. Cyrus had tested the range of Neal's vision but not his ability to distinguish fast-moving objects. Peter didn't know if there were statistics for it, but he'd wager Neal's score would surpass that of anyone without algolnium. Would Peter eventually have that ability as well? He hoped so.

"Keep a careful watch for more of them," Jones admonished. "I don't want to be anywhere near something that will set up shop inside my head." Both he and Diana drew out their guns.

"The mausoleum door's ajar," Diana commented. "Keller must have left it open. That's fortunate. We don't have to wait for a warrant." Peter glanced over at Neal. Was this the same kid who used to be so flustered in Diana's presence? His innocent choirboy look now would fool anyone.

She switched on her flashlight. "Jones and I enter first. You two keep a safe distance behind."

The chamber inside would have been totally dark if it hadn't been for the flashlights. Burial niches on both sides were inscribed with the names of the deceased. The last date appeared to be 1951. A thick layer of dust covered the niches.

Neal scanned the floor, looking in every crevice. Peter knew what he was seeking—not zoogs but the ruby crystal.

Diana pointed out tracks on the floor. Traces of a man's shoe. Small claw prints which could have been left by zoogs. Even more ominous were a few scattered hoof prints. They could only mean one thing—ghasts.

Jones stopped to photograph them. The flash of his camera provoked a whirl of wings and high-pitched squeaks. Bats had been roosting in the niches of the ceiling. Of course, there would be bats. Would witches be next? At the moment, Peter would much rather face a witch than a zoog.

The mausoleum extended for about twenty feet. At the back of the chamber, chunks of masonry prevented a clear view. Jones scrambled on top of the pile. "Someone's been excavating," he exclaimed. "There's a staircase."

They all clambered over the stones to view a cavity about four feet wide. It was the entrance to a stone staircase which descended into the ground.

Peter took the lead, dismissing their objections. He shone the flashlight Diana had lent him into the cavity and jumped down. "It's most likely a crypt built below the mausoleum." He knelt down to examine the top step. "The construction technique is quite different from the mausoleum. It appears to predate it. Look at these beams. They appear to have been supports for a roof. You can see that above the walls of the staircase is a gap of roughly three feet of earth. The wood is hundreds of years old, judging by the state of decay. It's possible that when the mausoleum was built the builder had no knowledge of the crypt underground."

"What are you saying?" Diana demanded. "That someone recently excavated this opening?"

Peter climbed back out. "That's exactly what it looks like." He took out a Swiss army knife and scraped off a bit of the masonry lying on the floor of the chamber. "The color indicates that this was cut in the past several months. I'd estimate less than a year ago."

"The cemetery dates back to the beginnings of Arkham, in the early 1700s," Diana said. "The crypt may date from that period."

"Possibly. The steps are simple limestone blocks. I'll need to analyze the stone itself to make an estimate."

Neal jumped into the staircase and examined the stone wall. A peculiar green slime clung to its sides. When Peter approached him, he murmured, "This looks like the same slime I found when I was sucked inside the ruby crystal in the church." He looked down the steps. His face was white in Diana's flashlight.

Shelf mushrooms grew along the steps. They were oddly iridescent with a sheen that reminded Peter of an oil slick on a pavement. The colors appeared to be a response to his flashlight as they continued to glow even after his flashlight no longer shone on them.

Diana and Jones stepped in front. "We go first," Diana ordered. "You two stay in the rear. There's probably a second burial chamber at the end of the stairway. We'll give it a quick check then come back tomorrow."

Neal started to speak, but she cut him off. "This is a police operation. I shouldn't even allow you to be here. Do as you're told."

Neal gave way but plainly he was uneasy about it. "They don't know what dangers may lie ahead," he muttered to Peter.

"You're thinking about the abyss you fell into at the church?"

He nodded.

"This is different. We haven't found a ruby crystal. We haven't gone through a portal. This is just a stairway, not a path down to the abyss."

Jones paused to stare at them. "What are you two talking about?"

Diana sighed. "I'd spared you the details. Since these two seem to create anomalies wherever they go, I'll fill you in when we're done here."

They'd proceeded down about ten steps when the passageway suddenly filled with a dense fog of greenish gas. It reeked of sulfur and something worse. As it enveloped them, Peter began to gag and cough uncontrollably.

"Run!" Neal yelled, pointing ahead. "There's a ghast right in front of you!"

But he was too late. As if punched by a giant fist, Jones was hurled against the wall of the stairwell. He let out a cry as he collapsed onto the steps.

Neal raced forward and disappeared into the fog. An ear-splitting howl of rage reverberated in the narrow staircase. Peter was able to dimly make out both Neal and the ghast locked in a tight struggle. He'd grabbed the monster by the throat. Within seconds a spark of blinding light erupted and the ghast vanished.

Diana had gone back to assist Jones and was crouched beside him with her gun out. The gas was slowly dissipating. "What just happened?" she demanded. "Where's the ghast?"

Neal hesitated for a brief moment. With a quick glance at Peter, he said, "It seemed to self-destruct just like the one in front of the Nautical Shop." He didn't show Peter his amulet. There was no need to. Peter knew it was glowing. That the amulet destroyed the ghast was the only explanation that made sense. Neal was stronger than he appeared, but he couldn't have caused a ghast to blow up simply by throttling it.

"Huh. You either have the magic touch or the luck of the Irish," she remarked. "Whichever it was, I'm glad you're here."

She continued to eye Neal questioningly as he and Peter shouldered Jones upright and helped him up the stairs. Diana stayed behind them, gun pulled, guarding their flank.

"I'm all right," Jones muttered, holding his left arm tight to his body.

"Like hell you are," she retorted, frowning. "What's wrong with your arm?"

"It may be broken," he admitted with a grimace.

"We need to get you to a hospital. The crypt will have to wait."

Neal shook his head. "I'm going back below. The ruby crystal could be there. Any delay and it may disappear. We've seen it happen too often before."

"That's a risk we'll have to take," Peter countered. Turning to Diana, he added. "You head on back with Jones. We'll keep watch till then."

She hesitated and nodded. "By all rights I shouldn't let you stay. I'll drop off Jones then pick up gas masks at the police station. Don't do anything till I return."

As soon as Diana and Jones exited the mausoleum, Neal turned to Peter. "No telling how long Diana will be. You know I'm not going to wait, right?"

"If you noticed, I didn't tell Diana we'd keep watch _upstairs_. And as for that risk we'd need to take, she might have gotten the wrong idea which one I was talking about."

A smile spread over Neal's face. "Feint and obfuscate. I like your style."

"But you're not going down there by yourself. The gas didn't affect me as much as Diana and Jones. I was able to see the nightgaunt earlier this evening, granted not as clearly as you did, but I could tell it was there."

"But you're not wearing an amulet," Neal objected.

"Then you'll just have to keep both of us safe." Peter intended to be every bit as stubborn as Neal.

They turned on their flashlights and started back down the stairs. After a distance of some twenty feet, the stairs opened into a passageway. They were both keeping a careful eye out for zoogs. They didn't find any tentacle-faced rats, but there were other more ordinary creatures. Large cave centipedes about four inches long clung to the walls. Their pale pink bodies appeared almost translucent.

Peter pointed them out to Neal. "Don't touch them. They could be poisonous."

Neal nodded, eyeing them warily. "Next time we go cave exploring, remind me to bring a pith helmet."

"And remind me to bring a flashlight any time I take a walk with you, no matter where. We can't rely on Diana being around to provide extras." The exhilaration of exploring an unknown site under Arkham outweighed any fear over ghasts. They continued to find bats who, unhappy at their intrusion, twittered and flew off. One had a centipede in its mouth. He and Neal were crashing their banquet.

Forward progress was halted when the corridor ended at a stone wall. The construction technique was different from the side walls, inviting speculation that the passageway had been sealed at a later time.

A metal disk roughly two feet in diameter was attached to a side wall near the terminus. A circular band of text was inscribed around the rim.

"This script is similar to the one on the armillary sphere," Neal exclaimed.

Peter's heart beat faster at the magnitude of the discovery in front of them. He hadn't been able to see the script on the armillary sphere but this one was visible to him, too. What race could have created such a language? While Neal continued to study the text, Peter focused on the disk itself. It appeared similar to bronze but the color appeared redder than any alloy he was familiar with. He gave it the provisional name of _blood-bronze_.

The central portion of the disk contained an elaborate design which was reminiscent of an illustration on the frontispiece of the _Book of Azathoth_. Neal and he had speculated at the time that it was a symbol of that deity. Peter regretted more than ever that the book had disappeared from the house on Birch Street.

Like the book illustration, the design was a writhing mass of tentacles, but instead of an eye in the center there was a curious depression. It was sunken about a half-inch into the disk and circular in shape with twisted thin ridges running through the center. It was tempting to think it had originally been inlaid with faience, enamel work, or precious stones.

Peter probed delicately with the tip of his index finger into the depression, tracing the pattern of lines. It seemed oddly familiar but he couldn't place it. When he pressed the center, it gave way slightly.

Just then a muffled gong resonated in the chamber. Its wooden sound reminded Peter of a Tibetan monastery he'd once visited.

Neal shot a glance at him. "Did you do that?"

"It's possible," he admitted and described the action he'd taken.

"Was it a doorbell?" Neal stood up, looked at the wall, and froze. "Do you see it?" he whispered.

"What?" Peter demanded, not seeing anything unusual.

Neal shone his flashlight straight ahead. "Focus on where the beam strikes the wall."

Peter concentrated. "The surface doesn't have the slime that we've observed—Wait! I see it now." He approached for a closer look, but Neal put an arm out to stop him.

"Don't get too near," he warned. "It may draw you in."

"The ruby crystal and it's growing," Peter murmured. "How did the nightgaunt get it down here?"

"It may not be the same one. I had just searched the ground next to the wall and found nothing. This appears embedded within the wall."

They watched as the crystal rapidly grew in size till it was almost four feet high. As Peter stared into its heart, he saw moving shadows. What were they? Snatches of massive legs, gorilla-like hands . . . the beasts were unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

Despite Neal's admonition, both he and Peter were inching closer. The object was too mesmerizing to stay away. Then, from deep within the crystal Peter heard music—a lone melody played on a wooden pipe.

"That sounds like the ebony flute the priest played at the monastery in Leng," Neal whispered, leaning forward as he pointed. "And those shapes. Do you see the calligraphy on the walls? It's the starfish script. I think we're looking into the monastery of ice that I visited!"

"That's impossible," Peter murmured without thinking. More likely it was some projection or a vision. But wasn't that just as unlikely and didn't that imply he was having the same vision? He focused on the monastery wall. It appeared to pulsate as if he were looking through flames. As he continued to stare through the crystal, gradually he could make out the onyx altar. They appeared to be viewing the altar from one side.

"Where's the priest?" Neal muttered. "That's his flute we hear, but there's no sign of him." Neal pointed out an entrance, saying it led to the passageway he'd taken. There was a cavity or well in the floor that Neal didn't remember seeing before. It was on the opposite side of the altar from the passageway so it would not have been visible to him during his earlier visit.

Peter gasped. A gorilla-like head was beginning to emerge from the well. As it climbed out, Peter grabbed Neal and pulled him away from the crystal.

The beast's back was to them, but Peter could see its eyes projecting out from short stalks on the sides of his head. Massive torso. There was something odd about the shape of his arms. Those immense hands with long talons were frightening in themselves, but that there were four of them filled him with dread. Was this the gug mentioned in von Junzt's text?

The beast was now standing beside the altar. It appeared to be a couple of feet taller than them—roughly the same height of a ghast—and was covered in lank black fur. Yellow eyes protruded on stalks from its face. The jaw extended from its chin to the top of its head. Everything fit von Junzt's description. And, as if he needed any additional confirmation, Peter could now see clearly that each of its arms branched at the elbow into two forearms with massive gorilla-like paws ending in long sharp talons.

The gug abruptly spun around to stare directly at them. Its eyes swiveled forward as if locking on target. With a howl it lunged forward through the crystal.

Peter and Neal both jumped backward. Already the gug's head and arms had penetrated their space.

 _The amulet! Fit it into the disk. Peter! Do it now!_ Who was that? The voice was screaming at him inside his head, blocking out the howls of the gug.

Peter gave Neal a hard shove toward the disk. "Your amulet—let me see it!"

Bewildered, Neal pulled it out from under his shirt. Without wasting time in explanations, Peter grabbed it and snapped it into position in the center depression. Neal was forced to lean down in an awkward position to be close enough to reach, but Peter didn't dare remove it from around his neck.

A loud whine filled the passageway then silence. The only sound was their ragged breathing. The wall containing the crystal was once more solid rock. The gug had vanished.

"Your amulet sealed the wall," Peter murmured, dumbfounded at the result. They debated how long to hold the amulet in place. Neal argued that if the ruby crystal reappeared, he could repeat the action, and they decided to test the theory.

Gingerly he stepped back. The wall held. By some miracle they'd both escaped without injury. Peter stood close to the former gateway into the monastery. The masonry appeared completely ordinary.

"How did you know about the amulet?" Neal asked.

"I heard a voice inside my head, directing me," Peter admitted, knowing how crazy it sounded.

Neal stared at him. "What kind of voice? Lavinia's?"

Peter chuckled, Neal's question relieving a little of his tension.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "Was it Lavinia?"

"No, it was a man. I think he had a British accent. It was as if he knew exactly what was happening."

While Peter explained what the voice had said, Neal knelt down and poked through the debris at the next to the wall. After a moment, he picked something up. "What do you make of this?"

On the palm of his hand was a curiously-shaped faceted stone about the size of a ping pong ball. It was dull gray but as Peter drew closer he saw a faint reddish tinge. "The ruby crystal?"

Neal nodded. "I think so, or what's left of it." As he held it out to Peter, it vaporized in his hand.

Had they actually gazed upon the monastery of Leng? Would the gug have been able to enter their world? What race had created the disk? Had they intended it to be a gatekeeper for the monastery?

Peter felt like the Egyptian archaeologist Howard Carter who'd discovered Tutankhamun's tomb. After chipping out a small hole in a wall blocking the entrance, he'd gazed inside to see a wall of gold. When pressed by Lord Carnarvon to describe what he saw, all the archaeologist could say was "Wonderful things." In their case, the things weren't wonderful but were even more incredible.

Peter had glimpsed into a monastery with walls covered in starfish script. He'd seen a living gug. A couple of weeks ago they'd traveled through a wormhole into a different world, but this experience was different. Instead of a vortex, they'd stood at the gateway. And someone had provided not only the doorbell but the lock.

He turned to Neal. "You realize this puts a completely different spin on what we've been experiencing?"

"You're talking about the disk? Its archaeological significance?"

"Not just that." Neal looked at him, puzzled, as Peter continued his line of reasoning. "Up to now all the creatures we've encountered have been malevolent. The ghasts, zoogs, nightgaunts—they've all been hostile to us. The worlds we've glimpsed have been the same."

"Surely you don't think gugs are our friends?" Neal asked skeptically.

"Of course not. But someone built this disk and provided the means to close the gateway. Very likely the same race crafted your amulet as well."

"I see where you're leading. The amulet may be a gift from this other race."

"That as well as the algolnium."

"They likely also made the crystal manuscript." Neal considered for a moment. "Was one of them speaking to you?"

"Who else would know how to operate the disk?"

Neal held up the amulet and studied it. "It may have been the same person who gave me this." The jewel in the center of the medallion sparkled in the beam of Peter's flashlight.

"It's certainly possible. My belief is that someone out there is on our side, trying to help us. I know you're worried about the algolnium, and so am I. But I'm beginning to be convinced that having algolnium isn't a bad thing. Your amulet contains algolnium and apparently gives you the ability to kill ghasts and seal off the terrors of Leng. How can algolnium be evil?"

* * *

 _Notes: Just what is contained in that mysterious liquid on the altar? That and many other revelations, as well as some Halloween fluff, are coming up in the final chapter to The Crypt: A Rare Vintage.  
_

 _Peter hints that he may know more about lock picking than Neal. He is a tomb raider, after all. He ribs Neal about his fledgling burglar skills, but he's not concerned that Neal has them. This is one of the messages he's sending to Azathoth. The overarching message is "You want both of us." I wrote about Peter's signals for our blog in a post called "Subliminal Messages to Azathoth."_

 _Penna's also written a new post to the blog: "Do-overs and Keepers." She reflects on the do-overs we'd like to make in our lives and what thoughts Peter and Neal might have on the subject. One of her goals in creating the Caffrey Conversation AU was to give canon Neal and Peter the chance of a fresh start. Thanks to all of you who read our stories and encourage us to keep this do-over alive!_

 _Diana added a comment to this chapter about the suggestions Neal and Peter sent her. She's getting a little tired of having to fit all their requests into her story and is eager to return to her regular White Collar assignments. I'll have news about the upcoming story next week._

 _I named the mausoleum in honor of Danvers State Hospital, the prototype for the asylum. Neal looking like an innocent choirboy is a suggestion Peter asked to be included. He noticed the resemblance during a con Neal was running in St. Louis. The incident is covered in Caffrey Conversation by Penna Nomen, the first story of the series._

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 _Chapter Visuals and Music: The Arkham Files board at the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	6. A Rare Vintage

**Chapter 6: A Rare Vintage**

 **Police Station. October 31, 1975. Friday midday.**

"Any news of Chad?" Neal asked.

He hoped that was the reason Diana had requested the meeting with him and Peter—not to chew them out once more for having explored the crypt without her. Early indications were that she was satisfied with the lecture she'd given them upon her return in the evening. The police had worked through the night to erect a barricade around the mausoleum. Surveillance cameras and floodlights were installed around the perimeter. So far no additional zoogs had been reported anywhere in Arkham.

"Not a word," Diana conceded. "We've put an alert out and notified the FBI. Our fear is that he jumped on a tramp steamer and has already fled the country. The FBI promised to contact Interpol about him. Martin Keller is the reason I called you in. He died early this morning. I'd been in the hospital with him till midnight, hoping to question him, but when he wasn't too sedated to talk, he was delirious. He ranted about how his master had abandoned him. Something about a 'terrible eye.' Nothing that made any sense to me, but we recorded everything. Eventually he became so hysterical about what he called 'the thing within' that he had to be sedated. I'm told he died two hours later. One of the detectives was with him till the end to capture anything else he said, but he didn't regain consciousness."

"Will we be able to review the transcript?" asked Peter.

She nodded. "I hope you'll have some insights into what he was referring to. Did the author of the _Necronomicon_ use any of those terms?"

Neal didn't remember any occurrences but promised to check for her.

"The pathologist told me that the preliminary autopsy has revealed bizarre abnormalities in Keller's brain. He plans to call in a specialist to assist. You may know her since she's affiliated with the Miskatonic University Medical Center. Dr. Elizabeth Wayland?"

"You might say so," Peter acknowledged with a smile. "She's my wife."

Diana gave a short bark of a laugh. "That will make it handy. I assume you've been keeping her informed?"

"Naturally."

"That simplifies my life, thanks. Our lab also received permission to consult with Professor Cyrus Dexter on the liquid we found at the sanitarium."

"What have you learned from the cult members you arrested?" asked Neal.

"They call Starry Wisdom a church devoted to the worship of Azathoth. They refer to Keller as their priest. Chad Lawson is his assistant— _acolyte_ is the term they use. They claim their branch of the cult formed last May. They've heard rumors of other branches and make wild claims of their brothers throughout the world but have no proof. We've been unable to find any cult records in Keller's apartment, but the search will continue. As I mentioned earlier, Interpol has also heard rumors about other branches."

"And the liquid?" prompted Peter.

"You'll love this," she snorted. "They call it wine. Moon-tree wine, no less. That gourd is from the sacred moon tree. What a bunch of hooey. Only specially anointed ones like the priest and acolyte are permitted to drink it. These hoodlums— _novitiates_ they call themselves—were told they weren't ready." She rolled her eyes. "Superstitious nonsense if you ask me. The lab will transfer the liquid and gourd to Professor Dexter."

"Did they mention what their plans were for Sara?" Neal asked.

"They claim they had no intention of hurting her. Instead she was chosen to be a handmaiden of the church. When we pressed them on what that meant, they corroborated Sara's account. Once she'd drunk the wine, Keller would perform some sort of ceremony. No details on what that entailed, but they assumed it would give her a rank equivalent to Chad's."

"For the ones who weren't involved with Sara's kidnapping, you don't have much to hold them on," Peter commented. "Have they admitted to any of the previous crimes?"

"So far they're denying any knowledge of them. Sara stated that she was treated well when she was held captive. They didn't molest her and gave her adequate food and water. Depending on the toxicology report, we may be able to call the wine a classified drug or poison, but Keller is the one who could have been charged with threatening her to drink it."

"How about the starfish?" asked Neal. "Did they know how it was to be used?"

"That was one of our questions for all of them. And they tell the same story. The priest gives one of the members a little of the wine to drink and then hands him a starfish. Whoever receives the starfish disappears a day or two later and is not seen or heard from again. The members were told he was sent to another branch of the church. They don't know anything about ghasts or any other monsters."

"But they must have seen the police reports," Peter protested. "Didn't they know the ones who received the starfish were dead?"

Diana shrugged. "For most of the crimes, we didn't have any suspects. For the others, the cult members didn't connect the deaths to the starfish. We asked them if they knew Rufus McIntosh, the man who was possessed by a ghast at the Nautical Shop. One admitted to having been present when McIntosh was given a starfish. He thought his heart attack was by natural causes and didn't know anything about him being possessed."

"I'm putting together a team to document the crypt and the disk," Peter said. "I should be able to provide you with a rough date of the age of the disk shortly."

"Have you had a chance to discuss the wormhole with Professor Atwood?" she asked eagerly. Neal found it hard to believe that this was the same woman who only a few weeks ago asserted she disliked anything smacking of science fiction and accused him of being a psychic. The previous evening when they'd told her about the gug and the monastery, she'd swallowed back any disbelief and confined herself to ordering Neal to make drawings of what they'd seen.

"We have," Neal assured her. "We met him at the site this morning." He thought it best not to mention how distressed Mozzie was that they were unable to reopen the wormhole. He'd insisted they make the attempt. Both Peter and Neal had tried depressing the center of the disk, but nothing resulted from their efforts.

"And what theory does Professor Atwood have on why you can see ghasts? Peter mentioned that he also saw the nightgaunt. Will I soon be able to spot them too? Or Jones? First the visions, now these creatures you see . . . What makes you so special?"

Neal wasn't surprised at her questions. She'd indicated the previous night they were coming. And he and Peter were ready. They'd agreed to tell the truth.

"Honestly, I don't know," Neal said. "I never had visions till a few months ago. The first time I ever spotted a ghast was in September. The visions and sightings may somehow be tied to the cult, and with its dissolution I won't have any more."

"It's possible there's something about our body chemistry that enables us to see them more easily," Peter added, "but until we understand the nature of what we're dealing with, any guesses would be pure speculation and unprovable. I recognize that's not very satisfactory from your perspective."

"No, it's not," she agreed, studying them for a few moments. "I can only ask you to keep me in the loop."

Neal wished he could tell her about the algolnium within them and its possible connection. He and Peter had decided to omit it from the record since they didn't understand what relationship it had to their experiences. Anything they told Diana, she'd have to place in the official report, and that was a risk neither one of them felt they could take. Did she realize they weren't telling her the full story? From the look she gave him, Neal believed she did, but for some reason she was giving them a pass, and he was grateful.

When they rose to leave, Diana wished them a happy Halloween. "Consider last night your celebration," she admonished. "For the sake of my sanity I probably should lock you up for the night, but instead I'll just remind you that if you see any nightgaunts in the sky, you have my home phone number."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They left the police station together. Peter was on his way to a meeting with the university president, Calvin Upton. Neal wasn't surprised at the news. After the discovery of an archaeological site of such significance, he would naturally want to speak with Peter.

Neal intended to go home and carve an additional jack-o'-lantern for June's front entrance, this one with the mouth running vertical, like a gug. After last night, it was fitting. Mozzie and Cyrus would help her pass out treats. Mozzie would no doubt wear his standard mad scientist costume of lab coat, Einstein wig, and goggles. He turned to Peter. "Will you and El wear costumes tonight?"

"Of course. Last year we acquired Viking costumes for a faculty event and liked them so well, we vowed to wear them every year. Do you have plans?"

"I'm making dinner for Sara at her place. The family that lives on the first floor of her house will take care of the treat-or-treaters." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I figured it's the least I can do after what she went through."

Peter attempted to keep a straight face. "Noble of you."

"Yeah, that's me. All right, you can stop grinning now."

"Hey, I won't give you any grief. I'm just happy you're not spending it in the vault with Lavinia."

"You and me both," he agreed fervently.

"Are you wearing a costume?"

"Of a sort. I'm wearing a tux that used to belong to Byron. June lent it to me for the occasion."

"A tux for Halloween?"

"It was at Sara's request," Neal admitted. "We're dressing as film characters. She's Emma Peel from _The Avengers_."

"An appropriate choice for her. I take it you'll be John Steed?"

Neal didn't contradict him. If Peter didn't see the resemblance, he wouldn't mention it. How Sara had gotten it into her head that he looked like—

"I'm glad to know you won't need to rent a tux," Peter cut in. "You'll need it for Thursday evening."

"Why's that?"

"When I spoke with Calvin this morning, he told me he's hosting a dinner in the President's Dining Room of the Faculty Club for our group. Gideon Talmadge would like to meet with us. It will be a black tie affair."

Neal stopped in his tracks. "You said our group? He wants _me_ there, too?"

Peter smiled at his reaction. "That's right. Calvin wants all of us there—you, me, El, Mozzie, and Cyrus. I told him I'd let you know. Calvin has already informed Talmadge about our discovery of algolnium. Supposedly Gideon specifically requested your presence."

Neal took a moment to let that sink in. He'd never dined with Upton but Mozzie had told him about what he called Calvin's intimate soirées. He claimed the university president brought in a chef to cater the meal and supplied the wines from his private wine cellar. Peter confirmed the reports, adding that with Talmadge invited, it would be an exceptional evening.

Talmadge was a major benefactor to the university. He'd received his doctorate in finance from Miskatonic and visited the campus several times a year. Mozzie called him one of the wealthiest financiers in the world and had on numerous occasions commented on Talmadge's passion for cosmology. Peter spoke in equally enthusiastic terms about his support for archaeology. Neal had never met the man but was familiar with his generosity to the linguistics department. A fund established by Talmadge had provided his scholarship to Oxford.

"We were able to put Sara's questions on hold last night in the hospital," Peter said, "but I assume you're prepared for the grilling you're about to receive."

"She called me this morning to give me advance warning. She'd spoken with Diana who advised her to ask me about the cemetery."

"When she hears about how your amulet operated the disk, how will you explain it?"

"It's not just the amulet. Sara has the same questions as Diana plus she's investigating that photo. What El learned about Thaddeus could be relevant."

"Have you decided how much to tell her?"

"Not yet. Any advice?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't think Sara will be satisfied with the psychic explanation."

"But it's not simply my secret," Neal pointed out, "it's yours too."

"That's why I brought it up," Peter said. "If you decide to tell her about yourself, you can also tell her about me. I trust you'll make the right call."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal thought over Peter's words as he changed for the evening. When he put the tux on, he stopped for a moment to stare at his reflection in the mirror. What would James Bond do in his situation? Toss it out casually? _Oh, by the way, my dear, I have a probable alien substance floating in my veins. One or more of my parents may be an extraterrestrial. Another martini, please._

Neal groaned. 007 didn't have to face those issues. He just had to shoot straight . . . Or was that it? Could it be that simple?

He practiced a casual saunter as he walked to her apartment. Carrying the totes of food and cooking supplies rather spoiled the effect, but he knew better than to count on Sara for the correct implements.

She greeted him at the door with a martini, a promising start. "Mr. Bond, I presume? And may I add you've never looked so handsome."

"Why, thank you Mrs. Peel. Allow me to return the compliment. You were meant to wear a catsuit." Somewhere Sara had found a bright turquoise outfit in stretch jersey which looked remarkably like something Diana Rigg would have worn.

"I trust you'll find your martini to your satisfaction. Now that I'm no longer a bartender at Sharkey's, you're responsible for keeping me in practice. I also bought the wine you requested—Zeller Schwarze Katz. And I must compliment you on your selection. It's the perfect wine for Halloween."

Neal had brought over a marinated salad based on one of June's recipes and the makings for cheese fondue. His hunch that he'd need to bring along a fondue pot was correct. While he got out the supplies, she put a Carly Simon album on the record player. They sat at the dining table while he prepared the fondue.

"June didn't mind my stealing you away, I hope?" she asked.

"Not a bit. Cyrus had come over early to learn how to make gumbo. In a remarkable coincidence that smacks of collusion he wore a gypsy outfit which matched June's fortune-teller costume. The two gypsies were peeling shrimp in the kitchen when I left and appeared happy to see me go. Mozzie could wind up handing out most of the treats."

Her eyes lit up. "Are June and Cyrus dating?"

"He's certainly been coming over a lot. It started out quite innocently. Cyrus likes to cook and June offered to teach him some New Orleans dishes. I don't know if they've advanced to the dating stage but the prognosis is hopeful."

"I give Cyrus points for the cooking idea. Such an appropriate hobby for a chemist. The two of them standing side by side in the kitchen, slicing and dicing . . ." Sara sat back and grinned. "Will you help the budding romance along? Suggest new dishes for them to try? Heart-shaped meatloaf comes to mind."

Neal laughed. "They seem to be doing fine without me. Jack is the one who needs assistance. Diana is a regular at the coffeehouse, but he becomes tongue-tied in her presence. I don't think he's worked up the courage to ask her out yet."

"Would you like me to help? I signed up for a class in martial arts at lunchtime and discovered Diana's also registered for my class. I could easily work Jack into a casual conversation."

Neal readily agreed. Sara would be much better at it than him. "I'm surprised you're taking a class. You're already an expert."

"I wish. It was a humbling experience that I'd allowed myself to be kidnapped. I vowed to never let it happen again."

"I'd say you acquitted yourself very well," he said, tossing more shredded cheese into the bubbling wine. "I saw the bruises on the kidnappers."

She took a sip of her Scotch. "I wish I'd landed more on Chad. I can't believe that I felt myself initially drawn to him."

"Don't be hard on yourself. When he played high school football, the cheerleaders were all after him."

"That's no excuse. I'm an investigative journalist. I'm supposed to have more discerning judgement. In the future I'll call on your aid to screen all dating prospects."

"I gladly accept the challenge. The wrong flame could interfere with your goal of being Arkham's Bob Woodward."

"Oh, I have my sights set much higher than that. I want to go international—work undercover, write exposés."

"I'll have a hard time researching all the overseas Diegos and Don Juans you'll encounter," Neal pointed out.

"But you'll be abroad too," Sara responded quickly, not the least bit fazed. "You and Peter will be digging among ruins, finding artifacts, deciphering yet more languages. I'll visit you and drag Diego with me."

Neal smiled and wished it could be true. Funds were always tight for expeditions. There was little excuse to take a linguist along, but he could dream. It was exactly the kind of future he and Kate had talked about.

Sara waited till the fondue was ready and they'd begun eating before she started her interrogation. She swirled her fork in the melted cheese and blew on the hot bread cube seductively. "It's Halloween . . ."

He leaned toward her, gazed into her eyes, and lowered his voice. "Yes, Mrs. Peel?"

"Not fair!" she said, breaking into a laugh. "You'll make me lose my train of thought completely if you give me that steamy look. You can't distract me from my search for the truth. What happened in that cemetery?"

"Is this why you're playing 'No Secrets' on the record player?"

"That's me being subtle. Would you prefer me to sing?" Sara launched into a spirited rendition of her version of the Carly Simon song where she twisted the lyrics, muddling sequins with secrets and bemoaning the lemmings in her past. Neal joined in and mangled some words of his own. By the time they stopped, they'd switched from martinis to wine and he'd never be able to sing that song with a straight face again.

"I hope you realize I didn't need the prompt," Neal said, passing her the bread basket. "You deserve to know." While they ate, Neal explained the events. He was glad he'd already discussed so much with her. Describing the gug and the monastery would have otherwise been an impossible hurdle.

She refilled his glass. "You realize, I hope, that there's a glaring hole in everything you've told me up to now."

"What's that?" he asked as if he didn't know.

She crossed her arms on the table. "It's _you_. What haven't you told me about yourself?" When he didn't respond, she continued, "You saw a nightgaunt, and it's not the first time. You were able to kill the ghast. No one else apparently has that skill. You have visions of crimes being committed. You and Peter were able to travel through a wormhole when Keller was convinced you'd be destroyed. Hasn't Diana questioned how you're able to accomplish all this?"

"I think she believes I'm a psychic," he admitted.

"We've been friends for years. You've never displayed any tendency toward psychic powers up until September. Why now? Why you?"

Neal was ready. To quote another Carly Simon song, it was simply "the right thing to do." The talk with Peter in the crypt the previous night and the realization that they could be dealing with multiple alien races, not all of whom were evil, made it easier.

She handled it well and restrained herself to questions about the various theories for how he'd acquired algolnium. "I can see where you'd be worried if there were only algolnium within the starfish, but it's in your amulet too. No matter where it comes from, I know the element is not evil, and neither are you. I appreciate how difficult it must have been to share something like this and want you to know that your secret is safe with me."

He'd never seen Sara look so serious. He knew his instincts had been right, and it was a good feeling. From a discussion of algolnium Neal moved to El's revelation about his former advisor. "Now that we know Thaddeus also had algolnium in his system, the possibility of a genetic link becomes even more tantalizing. I can't believe, though, that he would have hidden a relationship from me."

"I have news for you on that front. I obtained confirmation today at work on an article I'd found just before I was abducted."

Neal's heart began to race. "You identified the people in the photo?"

"I'm confident I know who the man is—Andrew Phelan."

"I've heard that name. Didn't he work with Thaddeus's father, Laban?"

"That's right. He served as his assistant in the late '20s."

"I don't recall ever seeing a photo of him."

"And the university didn't have any of him either. Since Thaddeus had given you the photo, I wondered if the people had any connection to his father. Among the various associates, Andrew stood out as being the right age. I searched the archives and was able to unearth a photo of him and Laban in an old university bulletin. The photo had been taken in 1928 at a banquet on campus." She passed him a copy of the photo. It was grainy but resembled what a younger version of the man in Neal's photo would have looked like.

"What did you learn about him?"

"Andrew was working for Laban during that mysterious two-year gap in the record from 1928 to 1930. They returned from an expedition late in 1929. I found a mention in a newspaper article from January 1930 that mentions Andrew was moving to Boston where he'd been offered an appointment at Harvard University."

Neal had pulled out his notepad and was jotting notes. "That was shortly after the Stock Market crash. It was a time when funding dried up for universities. Andrew's appointment at Miskatonic may have been rescinded."

Sara nodded. "That seems likely, but there was another factor. On Wednesday, I'd asked a colleague who works for the _Boston Herald_ to check for me and he called back today. He not only found records that confirmed my research but discovered that Andrew married Lydia Conway in February 1930. She was a resident of Boston, providing an incentive to relocate. His job was in the Harvard University library. Lydia gave birth to a daughter, named Melina, in March 1931."

"So the girl in the photo could be Melina?"

"It's certainly possible. The age is right and the clothes are appropriate for Andrew being around thirty and Melina five."

"Did you learn anything about where they are now?"

"Nothing recent. First, you need to know that Andrew's wife Lydia died in childbirth. A few months later, Andrew quit his job—this was in June of 1931—and vanishes from the record. I've been able to find no other mention of him—not where he went or anything about his daughter."

"He and Melina disappeared sometime in 1931, and yet that photo must have been taken around 1935 or 1936." A wave of realization hit Neal about the dates, sending a stab of cold dread through him.

"What is it?" she asked worriedly. "You look like a ghost passed in front of your eyes."

"Maybe it did—the ghost of a ghast. You said Andrew quit his job in June then disappeared along with Melina. In that same month, Laban's house caught on fire and he was killed. A coincidence?"

"Or another link between you and the Shrewsburys? Thaddeus had algolnium. Perhaps he was your father and had acquired the photo from Melina."

"Thaddeus never married."

Sara gave him a knowing look. "That doesn't prove anything. He could have had an affair. Melina could still be your mother. You were born in 1952. She would have been 21."

"And Thaddeus 45. I allow it's possible but why would he have hidden it from me?"

"He may not have realized it at first. A chance encounter . . . dinner, perhaps dancing at an intimate cabaret. One night of passion . . . He probably didn't know Melina became pregnant. He could have found the photo much later."

"Perhaps he discovered it among his father's possessions?"

Sara nodded. "He may have noticed a resemblance to the woman he loved so long ago. The little girl is wearing a locket and he could have recognized it. Thaddeus may have intended to tell you when the time was right but fell ill. He no doubt blamed himself. Perhaps he worried that you would hate him for having abandoned your mother."

They speculated a while longer as Sara continued to spin a love story about Melina and Thaddeus, embellishing his advisor's talent as a Casanova far beyond credibility. Despite his reservations, Neal found himself wishing it could be true. But nothing could be proven. Thaddeus was dead. Andrew and Melina likely were as well. Neal was left feeling that instead of getting answers he'd been handed only more questions with little hope of solving them. He understood why Sara had waited till after dinner to tell him. Had the research come to a dead end?

 **Miskatonic University. Tuesday afternoon.**

"I'm sorry, Neal," said Peter, shaking head. "I've found very few references to Andrew Phelan, and none of them provides any additional information."

He and Neal were on their way to Cyrus's lab in the Derleth Hall of Science. Classes were over for the day. Cyrus had called the meeting to announce the results of the tests he and El had been conducting on the gourd of wine and Keller. Mozzie and El were meeting them at the lab.

Neal was disappointed but not surprised at Peter's words. He'd also searched through the journal, but if there was anything, it was probably written in one of the unknown languages waiting to be decrypted. And that was in itself a puzzle. Laban was an anthropologist, not a linguist. How had he acquired such proficiency in several distinct unknown languages?

"Has El told you what they discovered?" Neal asked.

"There were so many anomalies in Keller's brain that El hesitated to even speculate about them till she'd reviewed her findings with Cyrus."

When they entered the lab, she and Cyrus were working in lab coats at the far end of the room. Mozzie had taken possession of Cyrus's office. He was lounging in the leather desk chair with his feet propped up. When he saw them enter, he waved them in. "They're taking _forever_. If they'd only accepted my help, they'd be done by now. I told them there was no need to be martyrs. I wouldn't tell anyone I'd assisted, but they seemed to feel they wanted to prove themselves to me." He sighed and shouted over to Cyrus. "Aren't you ready yet?"

"Was he this impatient when he was your guardian?" Peter asked in an undertone.

Neal shook his head. "Worse," he muttered back.

"I haven't given you enough credit for surviving those dark days."

Despite or because of Mozzie's cajoling, it wasn't long before Cyrus called for them. "Once you hear, you'll understand why we wanted to reexamine our findings." He pointed to the wine which had been placed in a glass beaker within a sealed glass container. The liquid had lost none of its vivid coloration. The gourd was sealed in a second glass container. "Is everyone agreed we'll continue to call the liquid moon-tree wine?"

"That seems best," Peter agreed, "but before we go further, has anyone discovered what the cultists mean by moon tree? We looked for it in the _Necronomicon_ and couldn't find any reference."

"I discussed it with the head of the botany department," El said. "She had her teaching assistant conduct a search of international references, but he was unable to find any tree that goes by that name."

"The gourd is also unlike any other," Cyrus said. "I realize I'm overusing the word _unique_ but that's the only way to describe it. It's tempting to believe that both the gourd and the wine are products of an extraterrestrial species of tree."

"The wine could be derived from its sap," El added. "Palm tree sap is used in a similar manner on Earth."

"Any ideas on what causes the coloration of the liquid?" Peter asked. "Those layers of blue, turquoise, and pink look as fresh as when we first saw them. Could the wine be bioluminescent?"

Cyrus beamed at him. "Exactly! Phosphorescence would only be seen for a limited duration of time after the chemical is excited by light. Our sample exhibits this extraordinary color spectrum because of tiny bioluminescent life forms within the wine."

"They act as one single large organism," El explained. "It's the same process which coral exhibits. In the case of this liquid, each organism is microscopic in size. Acting together, they turn the wine into something roughly equivalent to a large jellyfish. When we poured the wine into separate smaller beakers, each beaker exhibited the same properties."

"But that's not the most fascinating part," Cyrus broke in. "Each organism has the characteristics of an embryo." He paused to let that sink in.

"You mean the wine is a nursery?" Neal asked, stunned.

El nodded. "That's an excellent way of viewing it. Under the microscope the individuals resemble jellyfish embryos."

"So whoever drinks the wine is infected with them," Peter mused aloud.

"Have you been able to determine what species the embryos are?" Mozzie asked.

El nodded. "Before we explain, you should know the results of Keller's autopsy. His brain had been radically transformed. The zoog which you saw escape from his ear was apparently living within his cranial cavity. Keller's brain had shrunk to a tenth of its size and the extra space had been turned into a nest of sorts. Dense ganglia had attached themselves to his cerebral cortex. We believe the zoog may have been capable of controlling Keller—not only his thought processes but his motor movements."

"El discovered trace amounts of what we assume to be zoog tissue within his cranial cavity," Cyrus added.

"Unfortunately I no longer have the sample," she admitted. "Eight hours after I performed the extraction, it disintegrated."

"It's likely that zoogs, like ghasts, can only survive a limited time in our reality," Mozzie said.

"True," she replied. "But once it's embedded itself within a human, it may be able to live for a much longer period of time. We were able to photograph the slides before the tissue vanished."

"El and I are confident that the embryos in the wine are zoogs," Cyrus added. "Presumably Keller was infected by drinking it."

"So if they'd forced Sara to drink the wine . . ." Neal stopped, unable to say the words.

El nodded. "She had a very close call. It also means Chad likely has a zoog in his brain. It's conceivable the zoog could be controlling his actions."

Neal had sensed a malevolence within both Chad and Keller. Was it the zoog? Where was Chad now? Was he plotting revenge or had he escaped out of the country? With an effort, Neal refocused his attention on El who was explaining their intention to present their findings to Captain Hughes and Diana.

Peter then filled the group in on the results of his team's research. "We extracted samples for carbon-dating. The results of that analysis indicate the disk is roughly 8,000 years old. Up to now we've only found evidence of primitive Neolithic settlements from that period. For any known culture from that time to have produced a disk of such sophistication is simply not possible."

"The disk also contains a large amount of the molecular compound we call algolnite. It's made from a metal similar to bronze which resembles the composition of Neal's amulet," Cyrus added.

"The disk by itself doesn't necessarily indicate an extraterrestrial origin," Peter cautioned. "It could have been made by an earlier advanced civilization that was wiped out without a trace."

"That's true," Mozzie countered, "but the beings would have surely been aware of wormholes. How else can you explain the linkage between the disk and the wormhole to Leng you opened up? And that voice you heard telling you how to close the wormhole? That's indisputable proof of aliens among us." He waved his arms expansively. "They could be here right now, eavesdropping. Perhaps they're disguised as a piece of lab equipment or a spider. The bees flying outside could be space aliens. We've already documented instances of hostile creatures, but now we've unearthed proof of beings who want to help us. I feel much more optimistic for our future than I did a few days ago."

 **The next day. Lavinia's office.**

"Yes, I know, Lavinia. It was a risky move, but I had no choice." Phineas's voice was adamant. Even Ch'uli, who was perched on the table next to the steaming infusion, chittered her agreement. "As you know, the amount of algolnium in Neal's system prevents me from accessing his mind like I used to. Fortunately Peter is not similarly blocked. It should be years before my connection to him is severed."

"Yet another benefit that I gave him such a small dose." Despite her lecture, Lavinia concurred with his assessment. If Phineas hadn't intervened, gugs might be running loose on the streets of Arkham. But what would be the consequences of Peter having heard his voice? "Peter and Neal have both pounded on my door, demanding answers."

"We already knew we'd need advance the timeline, but I don't see an immediate threat. The wormhole is now sealed. My presentation is scheduled for two weeks from now. Let's keep to that timetable. Neal has met me as Phineas. It will be less of a shock if he meets someone he thinks he knows."

"That's acceptable. I'm leaving on vacation this evening. My assistant can manage in my absence. Let her deal with their incessant questions."

Phineas chuckled. "Fleeing because of a few inquiries? That doesn't sound like the Lavinia I know."

Lavinia groaned. She wished that was all it was . . . Ch'uli placed a paw on her shoulder to peer at her anxiously, and she gave her a pat as much to reassure herself as Ch'uli. "I'm plagued with a more pressing annoyance. It concerns Mozzie." When she told him, Phineas couldn't stop laughing. "I fail to see the humor. This has become a severe impediment."

"Where are you going?"

"As far away as possible."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Life gradually returned to normal for Neal. His students stressed about the fast approaching midterms. He, on the other hand, stressed about his first black tie affair. Perhaps life wasn't back to normal after all. And what was normal anyway?

Mozzie never stressed about anything, but he was a frustrated suitor. He'd been forced to suspend overtures to Lavinia when she abruptly left for a two-week vacation. Neal was convinced she did so to avoid Mozzie's ardor.

The day after their group met in the lab, both the wine and the gourd disintegrated. Captain Hughes and Diana were in agreement that the best course was to not report the wine to the federal government. The only evidence they had were the photos of the slides, and they agreed that officials unfamiliar with the situation would likely consider them to be fabrications. Although the police had been alerted to be on the lookout for zoogs, there had been no more sightings. Detectives continued to monitor the waterfront, but the cult appeared to have disbanded with the death of their leader. No more starfish had been found at crime scenes. Arkham too was returning to normal.

The President's Dining Room was a private room in the faculty club on the second floor of the student center. Peter and El had been frequent guests, but not Neal. This was heady stuff for a lowly assistant professor. Instead of working on his lesson plans, Neal had spent the previous evening with June, rehearsing the intricacies of table etiquette.

Peter and El picked him up for the short ride to the faculty club. Deep breaths, Neal kept telling himself. He'd faced ghasts and gugs. He'd ridden a nightgaunt. He could do this. Elizabeth looked like a movie star in her black evening dress with her hair swept up into an elegant chignon and Peter was her leading man. Neal resisted the urge to tug at his bow tie. At the moment he was feeling much more like Chevy Chase than James Bond. He shouldn't have watched _Saturday Night Live_ last weekend _._ Was Chevy's fall of the week an omen? Neal could see it playing out in front of him. He'd walk into the room, stumble on the rug, and fall flat on his face.

"You're not nervous, are you?" Peter asked as they walked up the stairs.

"Me? Of course not." _Liar._

The dining room was small with one long table with enough seating for twelve people. The chairs were upholstered in leather. Portraits of university presidents hung on the walls. Mozzie and Cyrus were already there when they arrived. They were conducting a conversation with President Upton and the man Neal presumed was Gideon Talmadge. Mozzie was resplendent in a magnificent tux with copper paisley silk waistcoat. Cyrus was in an ill-fitting tux which somehow managed to convey the impression that he had a lab coat on underneath.

Calvin, for he insisted Neal call him by his first name, was a congenial host. Neal's game plan was to keep in the background and not commit any fouls, but he quickly discovered that wasn't to be. Talmadge strode up to him and immediately engaged him in conversation. Talmadge commanded attention. His aquiline nose and piercing eyes gave him the look of a raptor. But his prey at the moment was not a finance magnate but Neal.

Unexpectedly, though, Neal found him an easy conversationalist. Talmadge's grasp of ancient languages and civilizations was astonishing for a layman. His tastes extended to the entire spectrum of ancient cultures.

Neal had wondered if it was appropriate to bring in an outsider into their discussions, even someone as distinguished as Talmadge, but he quickly learned why. Talmadge was a particular admirer of Peter's work. And not just a backer. In a sense he'd instigated the entire sequence of events. He had recommended to Calvin that Peter undertake the dig in Abydos which produced the starfish artifact.

Talmadge was convinced that an advanced civilization had existed on earth before any of the currently known ancient ones. He was also an adherent to Mozzie's theory that it had been established by extraterrestrials. With the discovery of the disk in the crypt, he believed they had the first concrete proof.

At dinner Talmadge proposed launching a new initiative to unearth further evidence with his foundation providing the backing, and he wanted their group to lead the effort. The vistas around Neal were broadening into a universe of opportunities.

A few short weeks ago, Neal was worried about being fired from his post because of mental instability. Now Mozzie expounded on the possibility of traveling to other planets and even different branes via wormholes, and everyone listened to his remarks with the utmost seriousness. The university was prepared to endorse the group's participation in an investigation not just on a global basis but possibly off-world.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next day, when Neal found himself sitting with Peter in the reception area outside the President's office, it might not have been a surprise to Peter, but it was certainly was to him. He knew Talmadge had been eager to start, but this quickly? Were lightning-quick decisions what a finance mogul was all about?

Calvin's secretary called them into the oak-paneled office shortly afterward.

"Take a seat, gentlemen," Calvin said. "I'm sorry I had to keep you waiting. Forms and paperwork, you know. The nature of my life these days. I wish I could be as free as you to embark on this adventure."

Neal appreciated the sentiment if not the accuracy. He had a full load of courses to teach and he was behind in preparing the next week's assignments. Reality had slapped him in the face when he returned home. Neal the Adventurer would have to wait till summer recess.

"That's why I called you in," Calvin continued with a twinkle in his eye as if Neal's hesitancy wasn't unknown to him. "It hasn't escaped my attention that you're both already suffering from a time deficit, and now we're demanding yet more work."

"We're prepared to adjust," Peter murmured.

"Thank you for the offer but it won't be necessary. Effective immediately, Talmadge is providing the funds for you to have reduced teaching loads without any decrease in pay. Peter, I've asked your colleague, Eleanor Templeton, to assist you with your lectures and substitute for you when you're away."

Neal knew that he wouldn't receive the same treatment but he was happy for Peter. Eleanor was the head of the department. Peter's students would be in capable hands.

When he heard Calvin say that Marjorie Whipple would provide similar assistance to him, Neal's mouth dropped. Marjorie was the head of his department, a veteran of twenty years with the university. She'd been mentoring him on his classes. Marjorie would now be _his_ assistant?

At dinner Peter had spoken about the time required for expedition planning. Now Calvin was offering it to them on a silver platter. From now on, their hours in the vault were to be considered part of their work load. No more sacrificing evenings on their research. Talmadge was eager for them to pursue Peter's investigations at Abydos with the goal of going there by the end of the year.

Was this to be the new normal? Participating in expeditions across the globe with the full backing of the university? Neal flashed a grin at Peter. The dream was about to become real.

* * *

 _Notes: Thanks for reading! Neal and Peter's adventures in Arkham will continue in Cinereous Skies. In this next story in the series, their abduction to a distant planet leads to the unmasking of a secret league, and Neal learns the truth about his parentage. Chad has disappeared for the moment, but bad guys have a nasty habit of popping up when we least expect it._

 _Azathoth has not been idle while The Crypt was being posted, and the focus returns to the present timeline in my next story, Nocturne in Black and Gold. It's early July in New York. As Neal and Peter make preparations for a long-anticipated trip to Comic-Con in San Diego, the master cybercriminal returns to the scene. Has he been affected by events in The Crypt? We'll soon find out. In case you'd like to refresh your memory about the status of the key players in Caffrey Conversation, I've written a summary post for our blog called "Prelude to a Nocturne."_

 _Nocturne in Black and Gold is a much longer work. Neal and Peter will have to juggle cases as they battle two arch-foes. They won't take any trips to outer space, but there will be travel to Argentina, Washington, and California. Comic-Con was expected to be a relaxing getaway but it explodes into a nightmare when illusion becomes reality and secrets long buried come to light. I'll begin posting the story on July 12._

 _The 4th of July is coming up and it too will be celebrated in the story, but it will be a couple of weeks later than the actual date. If you'd rather not wait, you're welcome to join Neal and Sara for a celebration in Baltimore which occurred last year in Penna Nomen's Caffrey Disclosure (Chapters 18-19: Fireworks)._

 _Thanks to Penna for providing magnificent beta help once more. Bouncing ideas with her and all of you who've commented has made posting this story a delightful romp. As many of you know, Penna has been working on an original mystery novel. She wrote about the help writing fanfics has provided in a new blog post: "Stepping Stones of Writing Goals." Penna is also sketching ideas for a couple of new Caffrey Conversation vignettes. The concepts are so exciting and creative, I wish I had a magic wand with which I could shower her with money so she could write full time. I'll do my best to coax more updates for the blog._

 _Diana added one final comment before turning off the lava lamp and hanging up her bellbottoms. We hope you'll return with us to Arkham for Cinereous Skies!_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Arkham Files board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


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